The Piano
by fishwrites
Summary: Merlin is a mute pianist,sent away from London to fufill an arranged marriage.He arrives in New Zealand,where one Stewart Valiant now owns all he possessed.When Valiant sells Merlin's beloved piano to Arthur Pendragon,Merlin is forced to make a choice.
1. I

**_the _**

**P** **I A N O**

**:i:**

_"Silence affects everyone in the end." _

- Ada McGrath.

**:i:**

**i.**

Freya died a week before the _Cantabile _was meant to set sail.

Merlin said nothing.

Father was distraught because Freya wasn't mean to die barely sixteen and unmarried. She was meant to go aboard the _Cantabile _and travel to New Zealand. She was meant to meet her husband, to guarantee the family a fortune in land and exports. She was meant to leave Merlin behind, in a house in the middle of London, crowded with grey clouds and rain. Sweet, kind Freya with her dark curls and lovely smile, who wrote riddles and drew pictures in Merlin's notebook for him to find. Freya, who was gone in a night of fever.

"They say it's lovely," said his mother, eyes shining with tears, "Paradise, you know."

Merlin said nothing.

"I hear that there's land for miles around, fields of flowers and grass and woodland. And it'll all be yours! Just think, wouldn't that be lovely, sweetheart? They say the sky is always blue, and you can see all the way to the sea, on a fine day. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Merlin nodded, if only to please her, playing idly with the keys of the piano in the sitting room. He pushed one ivory key downwards, slowly, so that it only made a soft _thud _and no note. There was a picture of his sister on the top of the piano, sepia stained and smiling wide. Merlin paused. Then reached forward to turn the picture towards the wall.

"And I'm sure the good sir Stewart would be a good companion to you," continued his mother.

At this, Merlin shot her a dry look, finger still caressing the smooth polished keys of the piano, and he didn't even bother to sign. Morgana, small and tucked into his side, spoke up for him.

"But Papa is a _man._"

His mother cast a worried glance towards the closed door of the study, where Merlin knew his father was currently residing. The tick of the clock filled the tense silence.

"I can't dissuade him," said his mother finally, almost pleading. "But it's necessary. And since your sister- since she- you do understand, don't you, sweetheart?" she reached as if to embrace him, but then drew back at the last minute, thinking better of it. Merlin didn't look at her, running a finger over the chromatics; black white black white black white white-

Morgana shifted around on the seat, fidgeting. She stared at Merlin's mother intently for a moment, pale little hands folded in her lap.

"Is Mister Stewart Valiant a gentleman?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.

_Valiant._ Merlin had almost forgotten. Only four days ago, he had been tugging Freya out of the living room as she raged and cried, his Father furious and shouting. She didn't want to marry a man she didn't know or love, she didn't want to leave home. Merlin had tried to play her the piano to cheer her up, but Freya had screamed at him, tearing the ribbons out of her hair, and stormed away.

Later, she'd apologized, and they'd spent a lazy afternoon in the garden, Merlin pushing her on the rope braid swing. They had stayed out there on the grassy lawns, even as the sky darkened and it began to rain, water droplets heavy and warm on skin. Merlin only led Freya back inside when he saw Morgana, framed in the doorway, a deep frown marring her pretty young face.

"He certainly is," said his mother, "He owns all the timber forests along the east coast!"

"Really?" asked Morgana.

Without a word, Merlin pushed away from the piano, silently making his way around the chairs by the window and out of the room. Once the door had closed behind him, he let himself sag against the wall paper, the texture of it familiar and embossed under the pads of his fingertips. This had been his Father's house, before he had remarried. It was his father's house after he had died, and it was meant to be Merlin's now – a home to be in with his piano and his son. But then his stepmother had remarried again, and now the house was almost unrecognizable. Merlin had no family left apart from Morgana.

Even so, it was still the only place Merlin had ever known.

He waited until he heard the door opening and closing, sounds that told him his mother had left the living room. Merlin slowly went back inside, picking his way through the furniture, and settled back down before his piano. It shivered beneath his fingers, as if it knew what he was thinking; that it didn't want to leave either. Merlin didn't want to go- it was folly- but it seemed that he had no choice. Stewart Valiant would be expecting a wife of some sort. And his father was expecting the money.

The 'D' rang out clear and stark when Merlin hit the key. It cried out all the anguish and loneliness in Merlin's heart, and in a single note, left Merlin as silent as he ever was.

**:i:**

Life aboard the _Cantabile_ was terrifying and lonely. The days were long, the nights were longer, the ship rocking in the waves. Merlin's mother had scrambled together enough money to pay for one of the small, cramped, but private first class cabins, which Merlin shared with his daughter. From what Merlin had seen in his quick tour of the ship, the other passengers slept in bunks all piled together under deck, with barely room enough to walk.

Merlin worried about his piano.

During the day, Merlin supposed it wasn't too bad. He had never been at sea before, and the wide, wide expanse of endless blue was breath taking. For the first few days, he got up at first light to stand at the railings of the ship, watching the sun rise over the horizon. And he would stand there, hands clutching tight at the salt-crushed metal rails, whilst the boat rocked and lurched with the wind.

The atmosphere on the ship for the first week was subdued. Merlin caught many wandering about the decks, trying to catch a last sight of the shores of Belfast before home disappeared for good. Some were hollow about the eyes, listless and short tempered, and there had already been a near-brawl over sleeping quarters and the ration of ale.

At night, the sounds of babies crying kept Merlin awake. His mind echoed with them, unable to create the music that usually flowed like a constant lullaby, a safe cocoon that kept him separate from the outside world.

The sea gales grew cold as the afternoons wore on. And it was on one such afternoon that Merlin encountered the trouble that he had been trying to avoid.

"Papa."

Merlin turned. He reached for Morgana, and she came up to the railings beside him, propping her chin on her hands with a little pout. Carefully, Merlin rested a hand on her shoulder, reassured by the warm rise and fall of breaths.

"It's nearly night time," said Morgana.

Merlin smiled, and his hands flitted.

_I know._

"What are you still doing out here? It's freezing."

_Stars. Waiting for the stars._

Morgana looked up at the rapidly blackening sky, squinting, her dark locks of hair sweeping over her shoulders. Then she glanced back at Merlin.

"How long until we get there?" she asked. Morgana didn't seem to care for the sea as much as Merlin did, staying in their cabin for most of the day with a piece of paper and pen. She wrinkled her nose a little at the salt spray and Merlin smoothed back her hair fondly. Morgana batted him away, staring up expectantly.

Merlin sighed and twisted his hands in a series of gestures, palms held up.

_I'm not sure. A few more weeks?_

"I want to go home," said Morgana, sullenly, staring out over the water.

But then she brightened and said, "I'll see Father soon!"

Giving Merlin a quick smile, she turned and ran back across the deck, disappearing down the stairs and out of sight. There was a tight feeling in Merlin's chest that had nothing to do with the sickening rock of the ship or the salt in the air. He tore his eyes away from the stairwell and tracked the trailing foam behind the ship's engines, watching white disappear into blue.

It was almost dark now. Behind him, he could see the dim yellow glow of oil lamps in the windows. Beyond yawned the blackness of the ocean, the blue drowned in ink, and the sound of the waves slapping against the side of the ship.

The wind whipped his hair into his eyes, and Merlin brushed them back, right hand tapping absently on the rough surface of the railing. Slowly, he began, fingers finding the familiar places like a memory. _D. _Tap._ F sharp. B. A._ And Merlin thought he could hear the music now, notes falling over the deck as he played, like a bottle dropped into the sea.

Merlin tilted his head back to the sky, letting the salt and music fill him to the brim and he smiled despite himself. There were freckles in the sky that could have been stars, scattered haphazardly like notes across a page. They were lost in the sound of the sea.

Merlin was so intent on listening that he failed to notice the approaching footsteps before it was too late.

"Hey, _sweetheart_," came a voice, and then there was the heat of a body pressed along the length of his back, pushing Merlin up against the railings so that the breath rushed out of him in a gasp. "Y'alright then? What's a lovely lad like you doing al-"

Instinctively, Merlin kicked backwards, trying to dislodge the man's hand gripping his waist. But the deck slipped from under the soles of his shoes and he only managed to stumble, hand grappling for the railing to stop himself from falling completely. He couldn't see the man's face, but could smell the alcohol and foul breath as he chuckled, the unshaven scratch of stubble close to his ear. Merlin shivered.

"It's cold out," said the man, laughing. "How about you come with me, and we'll…warm you up?" The hand crept lower and lower, and Merlin tried to jerk away. Taking a deep breath, he clenched one fist and swung his elbow back, aiming for his assailant's throat.

The man jumped backwards to avoid the blow, and Merlin took the chance to scramble away. He thanked god that Morgana was safe in their cabin and not out here. The man cursed loudly.

"You little-!"

He made a grab for Merlin again, catching his shoulder and spinning him around, and in the dark, something crashed into the side of the deck when Merlin kicked, sounding like tin and metal. The man was not deterred, and Merlin snarled and swung another punch. He caught Merlin's fist in his own and pulled him up close, heedless of Merlin's attempts to stamp on his toes. Up close, he was a burly man, tall and rough around the edges, and Merlin's heart beat fast within his ribcage, out of time and without rhythm. There was a buzzing in his head and he only caught the last of the man's words-

"-Cocksucker lips," he panted, meaty hands gripping Merlin's upper arm, "Why don't we put those to good use?"

Before Merlin could respond, there were the sound of footsteps, and something flared, yellow and warm, blinding him. Instinctively, he screwed his eyes shut against the light.

"Oi. What's going on here?"

Abruptly, the man let go, and Merlin almost fell backwards managing to catch himself just in time. He rubbed his arms, feeling bruises forming where fingers had dug into flesh, and opened his eyes. His savior was one of the ship's crew, and he held a large oil lamp in one hand and a stick in the other. He was shorter than Merlin, with sandy hair and black smudges all over his face. He looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed.

"Is there a problem?"

Merlin glanced at the man, who glowered in return. Merlin looked back at the sailor, who was still glaring.

"Nah," said the man, with a shrug of huge shoulders.

"Then I guess you'd better be on your way."

There was a moment where Merlin thought the man would object, but then he turned away, shooting Merlin one last, malicious look before disappearing across the deck of the ship.

"You alright?"

Merlin nodded, biting down on his lower lip.

"I'm Will," said the sailor, proffering a hand. And after a moment's hesitation, Merlin shook it. He gestured with fingers and palms.

_Merlin._

The man – Will- looked surprised, eyebrows climbing up into his hair. Merlin felt something squeeze around his chest; he knew that look.

"Ah. You're mute," said Will bluntly, gesturing with a finger across his throat.

Merlin nodded, suppressing a shiver in the cold night air. The wooden deck creaked beneath his feet.

"Should be more careful. The men are gonna get handsey after a month at sea. Worse in a coupla' weeks. Just wait," he snorted, setting down the heavy lamp with a dull clunk and reaching into the jacket of his uniform. Merlin shuddered inwardly; remembering the unwanted heat of hands on his waist.

"Cigarette?"

Merlin eyed Will suspiciously. Cigarettes were not cheap; and they were hard to come by on a sea voyage. And Merlin had barely met the man. He took the offered cigarette between his fingers and watched as Will lit it with the end of his own. It sparked, red and gold in the darkness so that Merlin could only see the curve of mouth, the reflection in eyes.

He took a tentative drag of his own cigarette and choked, coughing as in inhaled the smoke. Will chuckled softly and thumped him on the back so hard; Merlin almost hit his head on the railings.

"Don't smoke?" he asked, knowingly. Merlin shook his head. He took another drag from the cigarette though, not wanting to waste it or throw it away, but he ended up coughing again, eyes watering slightly. Will confiscated his cigarette after that, holding it between his teeth.

"You're useless," he said, not unkindly. The glowing red of the cigarette bobbed up and down as he talked. "But you don't seem too bad." He cast Merlin a lingering look sideways, shrewd. Merlin pretended he didn't notice, letting his hands dangle over the cold metal of the railings. _D. D. A. C. _They listened to the beat of the sea for a long, long while; the steady rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

And Merlin thought Will must not be too bad either, if he could hear the music of the water every day and not grow deaf to it. Most people did. They grew deaf to love and deaf to life, and soon, they stopped talking too.

:i:

_2 months later._

They landed on the shores of New Zealand in an isolated cove.

It was just the two of them, Merlin and Morgana; the rest of the passengers had already disembarked fifty miles north, near the city. As the crew helped them impatiently into the row boat that would take them to shore, Merlin tucked the letter back into his jacket pocket and held Morgana's hand tightly with the other hand. For once, she did not protest.

"There y'are," said Will, sticking his oar into the sand to anchor the boat in the shallow water. Beside them, another longboat drew up to the bank, and two burly deckhands were unloading the trunks and luggage onto the beach with little care. Next went the piano, which was rolled into the beach beside a case full of books. Merlin turned to Will briefly, and the man smiled back, giving him the thumbs up. Merlin helped Morgana out of the boat, holding her to his chest so she wouldn't get wet.

Sea water soaked into his shoes.

"You look after your Papa," called Will as he prepared to row back to the ship. Morgana gave him a little wave over Merlin's shoulder.

Once they were safely on the beach, Merlin sat Morgana down on one of the wooden trunks and went to retrieve some of the luggage that had been scattered haphazardly across the sand. He worried about the tide for a moment; the piano was too heavy for him to move by himself, but the letter said that Stewart would be meeting them upon their arrival. Merlin hoped he would appear soon, not because he wanted to meet the man, but because it was decidedly cold, the clouds a grey foreboding presence in the sky. And there would be no shelter for them on the beach, should it start to rain.

There was a distant shout and a splash – Merlin turned to see the little boat and, presumably, Will being pulled up onto deck. The ship's horn sounded as it began its journey back out of the cove.

"When are we going to meet Father?" piped up Morgana from her perch on the trunk, and Merlin made his way back to her.

_He should be here soon._

"Good," said Morgana, smoothing down the wrinkles in her sun yellow dress. The ribbon in her hair fluttered in the wind, and the cove was silent except for the cry of the gulls and the steady heartbeat of the sea. By now, their ship was a tiny dot in the distance. Taking the cover off the piano seat, Merlin sat down next to her, facing the ocean, and waited.

Noon came and went.

It was now late afternoon and there was still no sign of Stewart.

Merlin carefully wrapped away the uneaten portion of his lunch – half a sandwich, small apples and ship biscuits- and tucked it away safely in a case. Morgana had abandoned her trunk and now sat in his lap, head tucked under his chin while she napped, exhausted. Merlin shifted her slightly, careful not to jostle, and pulled back the corner of the piano. He lifted the wooden lid, and ran a finger along one beautiful key.

He pressed down, and the hammer hit string, a note: _A._ It was swallowed quickly by the cove, the sound barely there in the silence. _F._

Merlin buried his face in Morgana's thick hair and inhaled, trying to keep the tears at bay. She smelt of soap and oranges and home and everything precious. He had to take care of her.

Merlin felt it the moment Morgana blinked awake, yawning against his shirt.

"Is Father here yet?" she asked, and Merlin shook his head, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

Morgana slipped off his lap and went to sit on the trunk instead, reaching up to retie her hair ribbon. Merlin sighed and turned back to the piano.

"I'm hungry," said Morgana after a while, sounding a little sulky.

_Do you want sandwiches?_ Asked Merlin, gesturing. He glanced up at the sky worriedly when a rumble sounded, deep and dark. The wind seemed to be picking up as well.

Morgana swung her legs, kicking her heels back against the wall of the trunk. Merlin could see the unhappy set of her jaw and eyebrows.

"I'm _sick _of sandwiches, Papa."

Merlin unwrapped the lunch he had saved earlier, taking out the apple.

"_And _apples," she added, eyeing the biscuit. Merlin gave it to her with a small smile, and she took it with slightly dirty fingers.

_Are you cold? _

Morgana shook her head, crumbs falling onto her dress. A seagull landed on one of the suitcases and Merlin tried shoo it away with little success. The once cleanly pressed lines of his trousers were now rumpled from the weeks at sea, and his jacket smelt of salt and damp. He probably looked a mess too, even though he took care to shave that morning and there was no stubble on his chin. His hair felt too long, tickling the nape of his neck, and his skin probably had a layer of grime.

He wondered what Valiant would be like.

As night began to fall, it began to rain.

The first drops hit his skin, cold and wet. Morgana squealed in protest and jumped off the trunk.

"No! I'll get wet!"

Merlin looked desperately about the cove. There was still no sign of Stewart or anyone. He thought briefly of venturing into the bushes that lined the landscape a little way away, where the sand ended. But he didn't know what the local forests were like; it might be even more dangerous than rain. Merlin took off his jacket and wrapped it around Morgana's shoulders, before ushering her beneath the piano.

He took care to close the lid over the keys and pull the covers securely over the instrument before crouching down and crawling under the piano, where Morgana had already spread his jacket over the sand and sat on it.

_Wear it, Morgana, _said Merlin, but Morgana scowled.

"My dress will _get wet_. Why isn't Father here to meet us?"

Merlin sat down on the sand, folding his legs so they stayed within the dry patch. Rapidly, the rain soaked the sand into a dark, dark black. He managed to pull Morgana into his lap. He shook his jacket free of sand and wrapped it around her, the sleeves so long they reached her knees.

_Better?_

Morgana shrugged, her curls bouncing on her shoulders as she stared past him at the rain that was falling in earnest now, pouring from the heavens and pounding the top of the piano. If Merlin closed his eyes, the rain sounded like applause.

Eventually, Morgana's tense little body relaxed and she nodded off, once again cradled against Merlin's shoulder. The night wind howled around the cove, and Merlin could just make out the dark shapes of their trunks and suitcases clustered in the rain. Before long, he was shivering in his shirt. He debated, briefly, making a dash for one of the cases and taking out the woollen sweaters that were in there. But even if he ran, the rain would still soak him through to the skin, and that would be worse.

Pulling the jacket a little more securely around Morgana, Merlin shifted so that his back was against one of the legs of the piano, blocking out what wind he could. He forced himself to stay awake, the cold helping him to remain alert, even as his fingers and toes grew numb. Morgana was a warm bundle in his arms.

The rain raged on.

And Merlin stayed like that, under the piano, until the first rays of morning.

:i:

"Papa, look!"

Merlin almost startled, hands jerking away from the piano to look where Morgana was pointing. She was sitting on top of the piano, hair blowing in the morning breeze and waving excitedly at the figures in the distance. Merlin, who had been playing a wistful tune in order to make the cove a little happier (the whole place was so very, very lonely) but now that he had been interrupted, the music was disappearing into the ether, tune broken.

He closed the lid over the keys, hands trembling a little. He was nervous – he had been apprehensive about meeting Stewart Valiant, not only because he knew nothing of the man, but also because Merlin doubted he would react well to the arrival of a mute man in place of a beautiful bride-to-be.

He tried to make out the individual figures coming towards them, but they were still too far away for him to see properly. Morgana jumped off the lid of the piano and onto the sand, straightening her dress. She ran around the piano towards Merlin, face lit up with excitement. All initial resentment of the marriage seemed to have disappeared, and all she wanted to was to see the man who would soon become her other parent.

Merlin tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears and stood up also. The people were closer now, and Merlin could make out a few of them in jackets and grey, whilst the others wore loose, casual clothing. He touched the smooth surface of the piano for comfort. Morgana laced her fingers through his, and the both of them watched as the entourage approached.

There were two men at the front of the group, tall, one with dark, cropped hair and the other golden. The dark haired man stopped before he reached them, the expression on his face twisted with confusion. As the others caught up with him, he made his way over to the piano. Merlin had to fight the urge to step back.

"Have you seen the lady Emrys, by chance?" he asked, eyes raking over the scattered luggage over the beach. And suddenly Merlin realised that _this _was Valiant and he had no idea that his bride-to-be was in fact, a man.

Merlin swallowed, and reached into his jacket for the letter he had prepared, but Morgana beat him to it.

"This is my Papa," she said, jutting out her chin, "Who are you?"

The man made a little mock bow to her, amusement clear on his face.

"I'm Sir Stewart Valiant," he said, "And I am in wont of my wife."

"Well I'm Morgana," said Morgana regally, "you'll be my Father, soon."

Merlin's breath stopped in his throat as Valiant frowned, eyes darting from Morgana to Merlin's pale face, then to the empty cove around them. Merlin watched as something like understanding and then fury cloud over the man's face, making it hard and ugly.

He took a step towards Merlin.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Trying to mask the shaking in his hand, Merlin passed Valiant the folded letter, which he took with a suspicious glare and shook open. Behind him, the other man, blond with a thin bladed nose and sky blue eyes, sat down with a sigh on one of the trunks, propping his feet on another. _Prat, _thought Merlin, before a shout of anger brought him sharply back to them man standing before him.

Valiant threw the letter to the ground.

"She's _dead_?" he said, incredulous. Merlin flinched. "And you thought you'd take her place, did you? What do you take me for, a fool?"

Merlin shook his head quickly, gesturing with his hands, but before Morgana could interpret for him, Valiant was shouting again-

"You truly cannot _speak_?"

"Papa can't talk," said Morgana, and she looked scared now, eyes wide and hand clutching at the sleeve of Merlin' jacket, "You have to listen!"

"I don't know what your father was thinking, _boy_," said Valiant, taking another step closer, and this time Merlin did take a step back, heart hammering in his chest. He had no idea how to get out of this mess – there was no way to return home, he didn't have enough money, and the dowry that was to be Freya's was Valiant's now. He tugged Morgana behind him as best he could, trying to hide her from Valiant's rage.

"But you better go _fucking_-"

"Valiant. Come on, that's enough."

Valiant whipped around, and Merlin saw that the other man had risen to his feet now, a frown also on his face.

"I am not marrying this ugly creature!" protested Valiant, and the words hurt; Merlin felt his face burn hot with embarrassment. He was suddenly very aware of his dirty jacket, still-wet shoes, unwashed hair and too large ears. He wanted to sink into the ocean and disappear.

"There is no need to be so unpleasant," said the man. "It's just a misunderstanding, I'm sure. Let me see the letter."

Snarling, Valiant picked the letter off the sand and thrust it at his companion, who took it with a raised eyebrow. They watched as his eyes moved from left to right, left to right, scanning the words. Something flitted across his features, too fast for Merlin categorise, but then it smoothed over and he looked up at Merlin. Their gazes locked, and Merlin felt the music tremble beneath his skin.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," said the man. "I'm Arthur. Arthur Pendragon."

Merlin nodded and gestured, fingers and hands twisting.

"Merlin Emrys," said Morgana.

"And clearly not my bride!" cut in Valiant.

"It says here that you were informed of the tragedy, and, ah, the replacement?" asked Arthur, letter still in hand.

Valiant's face turned a strange colour of puce. He spluttered,

"Yes- No- I was tricked! I did not know that Lady Emrys' _sibling_ would be- this!" He pointed at Merlin angrily.

Arthur looked far too relaxed and amused for the situation.

"You told me just the other day you didn't care what your wife was like," he said, one eyebrow disappearing into his hairline. "Why should it matter that she is a man?"

"I refuse," said Valiant harshly, eyes burning. The men around them shifted, but all were silent.

"He is your responsibility," said Arthur, all traces of humour gone, "Where is your honour? You cannot just leave him here when this is clearly his parent's scheme, not his!"

"Why should I care?" spat Valiant, casting Merlin another disgusted look.

Morgana's hand tightened on his, and Merlin wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Arthur jerked his head in the opposite direction, and Valiant reluctantly followed him. They stood a little way away on the beach, their backs turned on Merlin and the other men. Merlin could see Valiant gesturing angrily with his arms and Arthur making a jabbing motion with his own hand, their voices muffled by the sand and wind. Valiant glanced over his shoulder at them every few minutes, the flicker in his eyes indescribable. Arthur's gaze was fixed firmly on Valiant's face, stern. Merlin looked away from them both, out across the sea.

The horizon was a faint, white line tracing the sky.

Merlin tapped his fingers against his thigh nervously, _A, E, A, E, G_, and the sound dropped like pebbles into the water.

He jumped when Valiant spoke.

"Let's get moving then," he barked at the men, and they moved as one, picking up the heavy trunks and leather suitcases, balancing wooden crates of books on top of boxes. Merlin turned, unsure of what was happening as the men began to carry their belongings down the narrow curving beach and onto a trail path that led into the thick forest. Someone cursed in an unfamiliar language as the trunk he was holding slipped, and he dropped it on the ground with a thump before picking it up again.

Merlin twisted his hands in the hair, nodding at Morgana, and she said,

"What's-"

"You're coming with me," said Valiant, gruffly, eyes sliding past Merlin and onto Morgana. Merlin tensed as the man hunkered down in front of her, but he only said, in a tone completely unrecognizable as coming from the angry man that had been shouting half an hour ago,

"Little Lady Morgana."

Morgana's eyes were wide, but she giggled, nervously.

"You have a lovely dress on," said Valiant.

Morgana swished her skirts.

"It's new," she said. And it was; Merlin had bought it for her especially.

"It's a long walk to the house. It might get dirty in the woods," said Valiant, pointing up at the forest with its dark, muddy trail. Morgana's eyes grew even wider with worry.

"Do you want me to carry you?"

Morgana's eyes narrowed.

"I can walk," she said, haughty once more; but Merlin caught her glancing at him, then back at Valiant, wary.

Valiant gazed at her for a moment, and Merlin wanted to snatch Morgana up, disliking the way that the man seemed so interested in his daughter. Perhaps he wanted a child of his own? Merlin held out a hand towards Morgana and she came over, sliding her hand through his. Valiant straightened up then, face a mask of indifference.

Without another word, he turned and walked off in the direction that the men had gone, jerking one hand in a gesture that clearly said: _follow. _

"I'll come with you," said Arthur, who had been standing to the side. Merlin looked desperately from him to the piano and then to Valiant's retreating back. He gestured, quickly.

"But the piano!" said Morgana, translating, "What about the piano?"

"I don't think it's possible to carry it up to the house," said Arthur, laying a hand on the instrument and Merlin wanted to slap it away; it felt like an intrusion. He gestured again, movements aborted and the first traces of panic curling cold in his stomach.

"But we can't leave the piano!" protested Morgana, not even having to look at Merlin's prompts anymore. Valiant must have heard her shrill voice because he called back;

"There is no room for it in my house. Now come or you can stay out here!"

Merlin pulled his hand from Morgana's and ran towards Valiant. When he caught up with the man, he was a little out of breath, but he managed to turn him around with a pull to his broad shoulders. He signed; trying to make himself as clear as possible, pointing back across the beach at the piano. It was silhouetted against the sea; a defined shape amidst vast wilderness.

_Please. Please, the piano._

Merlin gasped when Valiant's hand wrapped themselves around his arm, pulling him closer. Fingers dug into flesh; hard and unforgiving.

"Now you listen here," said Valiant, voice low as thunder, and Merlin struggled, trying to pull away. The hand tightened. "I'm taking you in because Pendragon says so, and if I don't, he'll kick up unnecessary fuss. I could just as easily toss you out without a penny to your name; so you will stop whining on about the fucking piano and _come with me._"

With this, he pushed Merlin away violently, making him stagger backwards.

The waves beat a steady rhythm against the shore, like a metronome, an unforgiving as a heartbeat.

Merlin strode back to Arthur, who was leading a reluctant Morgana away from the piano and towards where the forest path wound away up into the hills.

"…but Papa _needs_ it," she was saying, one hand in Arthur's, swinging it as she talked, "He can't talk without the piano."

Arthur glanced at Merlin.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, "There wasn't enough men to carry it back to the house – and even if there were, I'm afraid I can't force Valiant to take it. You'll have to do without."

_No._

"For heaven's sake, he's taking you! He's going to marry you – you should be grateful to have a roof over your head," said Arthur, patience evidently running out. He made an exasperated gesture with his arms, simultaneously tugging Morgana onto the path and leading the way into the forest. Merlin had no choice but to follow, looking over his shoulder every few steps until the trees blocked the piano from view.

:i:

They reached the Stewart Valiant's house before night fell, for which Merlin was grateful. He was tired, exhausted to the bone from staying awake all night; even Morgana, who had trudged up the muddy hill with a determined look on her face, was drooping a little where she stood. Arthur looked barely out of breath.

The house wasn't a grand affair, certainly not as grand as the houses in London. But it was large enough, with whitewashed wood and a neat row of windows that looked out into the forest; wild flowers growing along the edges of the clearing.

One of the men from the beach came out of the house, wiping his hands on his rough shirt. When he spotted Merlin, he stopped, looking curious, before turning the corner of the house and disappearing out of sight. Merlin presumed that all their luggage had been transferred into the house already, as it was nowhere to be seen. The wooden deck surrounding the house was deserted.

Merlin stopped at the door and, despite himself, looked towards Arthur for some form of reassurance. The man nodded at the house.

"I shall see you soon," he said, before bowing to Morgana and dropping a kiss on her hand. Then he strode off into the forest without a backwards glance.

Merlin stared at the door for a few more moments, trying to gather up his courage, but before his hand even touched the polished brass handle, the door was opened by a woman.

"Oh!" she said, looking surprised. Her gaze was appraising as she looked him over. "You must be _Master _Emrys." She paused with a doubtful air. Finally, she said, "Come in then, they've brought all your things already."

Merlin inclined his head awkwardly to her, before stepping into the dimness of the house, Morgana following in behind him. When the door shut behind them, Merlin tensed.

"This way," said the woman, leading them through a narrow hallway and into a spacious living room which joined the dining room and a kitchen. But the housekeeper turned another corner, and Merlin found himself in a smaller room that smelt of disuse and scented candles. Their trunks and boxes were piled in a corner of the room, opposite of which was a heavy wooden writing desk. Beside that was a bed, the coverlet pale cream, the pillows covered in embroidery. The chairs were also delicate looking, curved polished wood set by the bay window. The curtains matched the coverlet on the bed, and there was a vase of flowers on the table.

It was obvious that the room had been prepared for Freya, and not him.

"This will be your room. It was a guest room, but there has never been cause to use it often in the past."

Merlin looked around the room; realizing that this was his _home_ now. And when he looked out the window, it would be to the endless stretch of murky green, instead of the smoke and rooftops of London. When he walked out of the room, it would be to a stranger's house, instead of his piano. He could barely breathe.

"The master will be back soon; he was sorting out the …complications, he said," continued the woman, whose name Merlin realised he did not know, "I trust everything is to your satisfaction?"

It was not so much a question as a challenge, and Merlin nodded quickly, trying to smile.

"I like it," said Morgana, toeing off her muddy shoes and sitting down on the bed.

:i:

Dinner was a silent affair.

The lamb tasted like dust on Merlin's tongue, and he couldn't help being on edge.

Afterwards:

"Of course, your sister and I were to share a room," said Valiant, voice barely civil. His jaw was tense in a line of suppressed anger. "However, with you, this will not be the case."

Merlin gave no response, trying to still his hands, which were clutching his knife and fork with white knuckles.

"You will stay in the guest bedroom with your daughter until further arrangements can be made."

Merlin nodded once, not looking up.

It wasn't until Morgana was tugging at his sleeve that Merlin realised that Valiant was no longer sitting across from him, and that he had barely touched his food at all.

:i:

"So, child, why doesn't your father talk?"

Merlin paused, hands stilling above the pages of his book.

The housekeeper's voice filtered through the door, left ajar down the hallway. Faintly, Merlin could hear the murmur of other voices, indistinct. They were in the little morning room, he guessed; he had seen the maids in there two days ago, yards of white lace and cream cloth around them.

Then Morgana spoke.

"It was a tragic story."

Merlin snorted, leaning back against the bay window. It was night, and all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him, gaunt and unflattering. Morgana's voice floated in and out of focus, like a silhouette through the rain.

"…my mother was an opera singer, you know. So was my father, and one day when they were singing together in the forest, a great storm blew up out of nowhere."

Murmurings.

"But so passionate was their singing that they did not notice," continued Morgana in a low voice, as if imparting a secret, "nor did they stop, as the rain began to fall, and when their voices rose for the final bars of the duet, a great bolt of lightning came out of the sky and struck my mother dead! She lit up like a torch!"

There were gasps of horror, someone saying "Really, now!"

"…and from that moment onwards, he never spoke another word."

Merlin closed his book, setting it down beside him. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, as the voices blurred into one another like the days and nights.

Outside, it began to rain.

:i:

_I have told you the story of your mother many, many times._

"Oh, tell me again! Was she beautiful?"

_Yes. You look like her._

"How did you speak to her?"

_I didn't need to speak. I could lay thoughts out in her mind like they were a sheet._

"Why didn't you get married?"

_She became frightened and stopped listening._

:i:

Merlin dreamt that his piano drowned in the sea, washed away by the rain that pounded the roof above his head.

He woke with a gasp, sitting up in the darkness of the room. Morgana was curled away from him, hair fanning out on the pillow.

Moonlight spilled in a narrow stream from the gap between the curtains, over the floor and the duvet. Merlin stared at it for a few long minutes, listening to the water battling against the windowpane. He watched Morgana breathe, her side rising up, down, up, down, and he leant forwards and tugged the cover over her shoulders.

Merlin slipped out from under the duvet, wincing as his feet made contact with the cold floorboards. He padded over silently to the window, pulling up a chair and settling down, drawing aside the curtains so he could just see the grass beyond, black and indistinct. He settled into the chair, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his cheek against the window.

His breath fogged up the glass as he breathed.

Merlin watched the rain fall and cried for his piano.

:i:

Arthur came on the tenth day.

Ten days since Merlin had seen his piano.

"How's my lady?" he asked, amused expression on his proud, handsome face. He stepped into the threshold despite the housekeeper's dark look. Her disapproving glare followed them all the way into the living room, but Merlin barely noticed because Arthur was giving him a dazzling smile. Merlin's stomach was full of butterflies, which he ignored. Morgana gave Arthur a measured stare.

"It's boring. Rather."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Arthur, smirking at Merlin, who didn't smile back. "Perhaps we could take you to the city."

Morgana brightened.

"Yes!"

"How are you?" asked Arthur to Merlin, a little awkwardly. Merlin shrugged.

"Papa misses his piano," explained Morgana, and Arthur frowned.

Merlin made a few hesitant gestures.

"Could you take us down to see it?" asked Morgana, translating, and then she frowned too.

"But I want to go to the city today!"

"Perhaps we could go another day," said Arthur, eyes still locked with Merlin's, "We should take your Father to see his piano today."

Morgana huffed. "Mister Valiant is my Father," she said, pointedly, and Merlin felt as if she was cutting his heart out with a knife, "Papa is just _papa_."

Merlin gestured, pleading, aware that Arthur was staring at him. It was almost the curiosity that he usually felt back in London, the wariness that people had for those a little too different from themselves, a little too silent. Yet Arthur did not look away, as if embarrassed; he examined. Merlin felt self conscious but stared definitely back.

"If you'd like, I can take you down to the cove," he said.

Arthur came on the tenth day; and on the tenth day, everything changed.

:i:

The piano was still there.

The cover had saved it from most of the rain, but the weather had not been kind. Days out in the salt drenched air and the harsh midday sun had rusted the brass wheels at the foot of the piano, the pedals scratched with sand. The wooden legs of the piano had also begun to wear, much to Merlin's distress.

He flung back the damp covers and lifted the lid of the piano, running a loving hand over its wooden side like a lover.

"Has it survived the rain?" asked Arthur, coming over. Morgana sat herself down on the piano stool, swinging her legs as Merlin opened the cover of the keys, brushing away sand that had be trapped beneath the covers and in the cracks.

"It won't for much longer," said Morgana, "It's too near the sea."

_It will drown._

"The sea smother it," translated Morgana. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she added. Arthur was peering inside the lid of the grand piano, and he reached out with one hand. Before Merlin could stop him, Arthur ran his nails over the strings; making them twang discordantly, plucking them with his fingers.

Merlin slapped him across the face.

"Christ!" exclaimed Arthur in shock, hand snatching his hand back and bringing up to his cheek.

Merlin glared at him, hands clenched.

"Did you just _hit _me?"

Merlin gestured at the open lid of the piano, miming it slamming down. He made a cutting motion across his knuckles, then pointed at himself, then jabbed Arthur in the chest

_Do that. And your fingers. Go chop._

Arthur was still staring at Merlin, eyes wide. They were bluer than the sea.

"You can't- you just- do you know who I am?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and went to sit at the piano. Morgana scooted over towards the left, looking over Merlin's shoulder at a stunned Arthur with a smug expression on her little face.

Merlin placed his hands carefully on the white keys; they were familiar and smooth beneath his fingers, and calmed him almost immediately.

"Are you even listening to me?" asked Arthur, sounding a little annoyed. His shadow fell across the keyboard as he leant on the curved edge of the piano, blocking the sunlight so that it formed a halo behind his head. Merlin was momentarily distracted, hands poised. Then he blinked and looked back down at his hands.

"Papa's going to play the piano," said Morgana, giving Arthur one of her more intimidating looks.

"And?" said Arthur.

"So you have to go away now."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Merlin could feel his gaze like a physical touch. He stared resolutely at his fingers instead.

"Now that's rather rude," said Arthur.

Merlin's fingers twitched, and he gestured, a flick of the hand. Morgana shifted beside him, restless.

"Papa says the piano won't play while you're here. So push off, please."

Arthur continued to stare. And when another moment passed without him moving, Morgana sighed dramatically and slipped off the piano stool, coming round the seat. Arthur raised both palms as she approached.

"Look- fine. You'll just have to find your own way back." He sounded bewildered, as people often did around Merlin. But Merlin didn't feel as if he could play to a person he did not know, a stranger- even if Arthur had been kind and taken him down to the cove.

He didn't turn around; listening as the man turned and walked back across the beach, footsteps growing fainter and fainter until all Merlin could hear was the silence and the sea. Morgana returned to his side, smoothing the folds of her dress, rolling a length of ribbon between her fingers.

"He's gone now," she said, looking up at Merlin, who smiled back, briefly.

He placed his hands, carefully back onto the piano.

"Something happy, Papa," said Morgana.

Merlin began to play.

EMBED SRC=".3" VOLUME="50" HEIGHT="60" WIDTH="144" autostart="false"

It was a strange thing, playing to the sea.

It played back.

And as Merlin breathed, it kept him in time, each beat returning like ripples as the notes fell from the piano and onto the sand, spinning and sinking into the white foam. There was nothing on the horizon, no gulls in the sky, only an empty stretch of cove and the silence of Morgana at his side.

She began humming along, a little out of tune, a melody that did not quite fit with the left hand. It was terribly lonely, hollow, the cheerful tinkle like laughter before tears, absorbed by the forest and the little crabs in the sandy beach.

Merlin close his eyes and let his voice out through his fingers; silent for so long it was like taking a breath, full of salt air and strangeness_. _He changed the music, half way through, because the piano was still nervous, being out in the open. It did not want to dance, and it did not want to sing. Though truth be told, the piano rarely sang; it whispered and hummed like a child too shy to speak out loud. The piano had never seen the sky before; only a little blue square through the curtains of the window.

Too much sky was like too much freedom.

It made Merlin shiver a little through his jacket.

Morgana watched his hands, the left hand like the song of a rocking horse, backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards and Merlin played octaves because he knew his daughter liked the sound of them; two notes the same yet different. The high notes were light enough to become airborne, drifting in the ocean breeze, out of sight.

Merlin glanced upwards, squinting against the glare of the sun.

He blinked the sand from his eyes, right hand running the length of the treble keys like Freya used to do in the gardens; autumn leaves whirling about her feet. They had seen the boats set sail of course, from the port; Merlin's father had had a ship.

It all seemed like a lifetime ago.

The waves crashed, barely ten steps away.

Ten thousand miles from home, Merlin played on.

:i:


	2. II

**:i:**

"_Silence is the true friend that never betrays."_

- Confucius.

**ii.**

Merlin visited the Piano every day.

Valiant usually left the house early in the morning and returned late after dark. It meant that Merlin didn't have to see him very often at all, and apart from the meals shared in tense silence, he left Merlin quite alone. Merlin wasn't quite sure what Valiant's occupation was exactly, or where he went off to everyday – but he didn't really care. After breakfast, he would put on his well-worn jacket and take Morgana down to the cove.

The piano, ever loyal, stood waiting on the sand.

Merlin worried for it; all the water and salt in the air would soon wear away the strings. Already the keys had become sticky, and when he played, a few notes were out of tune, slightly different, not fitting in. But the keys felt the same as ever: smooth, smooth ivory against his skin, like the caress of a lover.

He imagined the sea changing when he played. It calmed with Chopin, the left hand soothing it until the waves were a steady murmur in Merlin's ear while Morgana pressed her own ear to an empty sea shell to hear the roar of hollowness that came with peace.

Yet the cove liked it best when his music was sweeter, when his right hand teased a clear, singing melody, not too happy, not too hopeful, but grey and slightly blue like the beach itself. The air itself seemed to sway, and the music poured from his fingers. Strangely, he wondered if Arthur could hear.

Merlin lulled the sea to sleep.

EMBED/ le Moulin, from Amelie

A week after they arrived, Valiant returned to the house early and brought with him a gift for Morgana.

"For my princess," he said, smiling at her.

It was a pearl-handled mirror.

"Oh! Thank you thank you!" said Morgana, beaming with pleasure and running forward to throw her arms around the man's neck. She clutched the mirror carefully in both hands, and Merlin took in the expensive, lacquered wood. White pearls were inlaid in the handle, the oval mirror framed with silver and filigree. It looked expensive and extravagant, something an eight-year-old girl should not have and would love.

"Look, Papa," said Morgana, angling the mirror to show Merlin, who stood near the doorway, one hand on the frame. He mustered up a smile for her, and watched as she settled herself comfortably on Valiant's knee.

Merlin visited the piano every day, until the fourth day.

He arrived at the cove, a little out of breath, his collar uncomfortably stiff against his neck, his jacket constricting like the little house that was his home. Morgana had not wanted to come, weary and sulky about having to walk the two-hour path that led down to the beach and the waiting piano. Unable to stay inside, Merlin had left her with her books and music boxes to venture out alone.

The sky was grey, dark clouds hanging low over the horizon in a promise of rain. Belatedly, Merlin realised he should have brought an umbrella or something else to shelter him from the rain. Then all thought of rain was driven from his mind when he broke free of the tree-line and the beach came into view. Merlin stopped, stumbling.

The piano was gone.

He almost ran the last few meters in his panic, the thought of his piano making his heart thump against his ribs. As his feet dug into the sand, he cast his eyes wildly about the empty, deserted cove. There was no sign of the instrument anywhere, the stretch of beach as grey and desolate as it had appeared when the ship had first landed.

The surface of the sand bore no indication of where the piano might have stood last, no shadow, no marks from its legs. The tide had washed all traces of Merlin's companion away in the night.

It was _gone._

Merlin stood in the middle of the cove, feeling something cold and desperate claw its way up his throat. The world was an echoing place without his piano, the only voice he had ever known _gonegonegone._ It was the only friend in an empty world of strangers. Apart from Morgana, it was all that Merlin had; a constant, an _always has been_ and a _forever._ In the last few days, it had become part of the cove, offering comfort that kept Merlin sane. It staunched the flood of loneliness that threatened to overwhelm Merlin whenever he was left alone, Morgana uninterested in his company.

He tried to reason out why it was no longer there. Could someone have taken it? A sea storm, tugging it into the depths of the ocean? He felt frozen to the bone, and the cove swam momentarily out of focus.

When Merlin next blinked, he found himself lying on the sand.

He sat up slowly, feeling a little light-headed. He got to his feet awkwardly, sand sticking to his palms and the back of his shirt clinging damply to his skin.

Taking one last, desperate glance around the cove, Merlin made his way back to the path. The sea waves hushed, hushed, twice as slow as the beating of his heart, three times as slow as the beating of his footsteps. Behind him stretched a trail of footprints, soon to be washed away like his piano. Gone without a trace. Gone. _Gone. _

Merlin reached the forest trail. When he found earth beneath his shoes, he began to run.

:i:

"What?"

Into Valiant's hand Merlin thrust a piece of paper with a single line of words.

_Where is the piano?_

His own hand was shaking, whether with the panic that refused to subside or at the prospect of Valiant's answer…Merlin did not know. After giving him a strange look, Valiant took the paper. Merlin watched him closely, watched his brown eyes move from left to right as he read.

"What piano?" he asked, raising both eyebrows. Merlin clenched his fists at his sides. He hated having to look up to meet Valiant's eyes

He mimed playing the piano, then gestured at himself.

"I'm sorry," said Valiant, and a nasty twist at the side of his mouth, eyes crinkling in amusement, "I can't understand you. Speak up."

Merlin felt a sinking in his stomach and was vaguely aware that he was trembling, shivering with anger and fear. His piano. Valiant had done something with his piano.

Merlin grabbed Valiant's left arm, screaming _tell me, tell me-tell me, you bastard _with his gesture-but before knew what had happened, Valiant had wrenched his hand away, knocking Merlin bodily to the floor. He fell with a hard thud.

"Do not touch me, you piece of _filth,_" snarled Valiant, disgust written deep in the lines of his face. "Your fucking piano – which, incidentally, is mine now-was sitting on that beach, rotting. I sold it."

Merlin stared up at Valiant, whose words had stopped the breath in Merlin's throat.

There was a dull buzz in his ears, blocking out all thought except for one. That word played on a loop, over and over and over.

Sold.

Sold Merlin's piano.

Merlin had lost everything, given up _everything _and now Valiant had taken away his piano.

With a silent, strangled scream, Merlin launched himself at the other man, heedless of the warnings as he swung a fist. It landed with a dull crack on Valiant's square jaw, probably because Merlin had caught him by surprise. His eyes widened for a moment before they narrowed, and suddenly Merlin had the breath knocked out of him as Valiant pinned him against the closed door. Merlin's feet were trailing on the floor. Valiant had him by the lapels, and Merlin could feel the doorknob digging painfully into his spine.

He kicked out wildly, consumed by loss; he swung his arm up again, intending to punch Valiant across his hateful, hateful face – but Valiant let go of one of Merlin's lapels and caught both his wrists in one iron fist. Merlin tried to pull his hands out of Valiant's grip, but it was tight enough to bruise, and he could feel bone crushing against bone.

Merlin kicked Valiant viciously in the crotch.

"Fuck!" swore Valiant, but he didn't let go, instead slamming Merlin back against the wall once more so that his head cracked on the doorframe. For a moment, Merlin saw stars, black and white spots from the impact, but all he could think was _it's gone it's gone it's gone._

He thought he was going to throw up.

It was a moment before he realised Valiant's lips were moving, and another moment before he realised that its shapes were forming words, that the man was talking. It was as if the piano were his only sensory link to the world, and the loss of it had rendered Merlin deaf as well as mute.

"…or I will throw you out of the house. Do I make myself clear?"

Merlin stared, uncomprehending. He could see the silence and the life of nothingness in Valiant's face, carved into the features of anger, disgust, and sour contempt. He thought desperately of afternoons, warm from the sun through the curtains, closeted with his music. The world had seemed so far away then. Now the piano was gone. _Sold_. And as with Freya, there was nothing Merlin could do.

A slap to the face brought Merlin back to the present.

"Are you listening?"

Merlin's eyes narrowed.

He spat in Valiant's face.

"You little-!"

The next punch knocked Merlin out cold.

:i:

"…A companion. So obviously Master Valiant is rather disappointed."

"But Merlin is so lovely-"

"Lovely? Honestly, Guinevere!" Whoever was speaking gave a disapproving _tsk._ "He's utterly useless. Sits and pines for that instrument of his. Odd, too, you know. They said that his family didn't want him and so sent him out of London. Has the devil in him, that's why he lost his voice."

"Come now, really?"

"…don't think…"

"…as good a companion as the Master's dogs, I say."

"Well, it must be _such_ a-"

Merlin took a deep breath and closed the door.

:i:

/EMBED FAMOUS BLUE RAINCOAT

Life without his piano was unbearable.

The absence bleached colour from life just as winter does to the blush of autumn leaves. It left Merlin a ghost, without interest and without appetite. He sat at the bay window in his new room, with its whitewashed walls stained yellow by the sun, and stared out with unseeing eyes. The window was the only feature Merlin liked: it reminded him of his window back in London. He could still see the sky from here.

The rest of the bedroom consisted of the bare necessities; a bed, a simple desk, and unadorned chairs. The door creaked open.

"Papa?"

Merlin turned.

Morgana made her way across to him. He had not told her about the piano.

"Father says you're ill," she prompted, when Merlin made no gesture. "Are you feeling better?"

Merlin nodded, trying to smile convincingly. He winced when the expression hurt the bruise, still dark on his temple. It had receded a little from his eye, so it didn't hurt so much to blink anymore, but the area still stung.

"I can't believe you walked into the open cupboard," scolded Morgana gently, coming over to stand in front of Merlin. She was wearing her yellow dress again, with a matching ribbon wound through her dark, beautiful hair. Merlin reached up and smoothed a flyaway strand behind the shell of her ear.

_What have you been doing?_

Morgana waved a hand.

"This and that. Gwen's taking me into the city this afternoon!"

_Be careful._

"I'm not a child anymore, Papa," laughed Morgana, only a faint trace of annoyance in her tone. She gave him a quick hug around the shoulders. Her hair smelt of soap.

"Father says you have to stay here and rest, so you can get better," continued Morgana, "You're feeling better, right?"

Merlin gestured, smiling.

_Yes, darling._

"Okay. Well, I'm going to go get ready. See you later," said Morgana, excitement blurring her words, and then she was across the room and disappearing around the door before Merlin could hug her back.

Merlin remained in his chair by the window, staring at the empty doorway for a long, long time.

He wondered where the piano was now.

:i:

The next day, Merlin found a sharp letter opener in the top drawer of his desk.

He turned the blade over and over in his hands.

Merlin could see his reflection, a little distorted and indistinct, in the blade surface. The bruise was almost gone now; just a smudge of ugly blue and purple by his eye. The handle was smooth between his fingers.

Merlin set to work.

He marked a point on both sides of the desk with a blunt lead pencil, then every few inches along the way, drawing faint lines to the edge of the table. After he had finished, he gripped the knife carefully in between his thumb and forefinger, as if holding a pen, and sunk the end of the blade into the wooden surface of the table.

Outside, through the thin windowpanes, he could hear the trees rustling, the sound almost as constant as the crash of the sea. The waves were inaudible, but Merlin knew they were present, their voices sucked into oblivion by the forest.

Occasionally, a bird's cry would punctuate the rocking silence, but Valiant's house was too deep in the woods for the gulls to venture near, too lonely for the birds to tarry. Merlin drew a tidy line across the expanse of the desk, and began on the shorter, vertical cuts.

A door opened and closed somewhere in the house, and Merlin paused in his work, glancing nervously at the door. When no footsteps approached, he turned back to the table once more and blew away some of the wood curls from the deep indentations.

The maids thought him peculiar and queer. Merlin knew that – and they went out of their way to avoid him as much as he did them. Nevertheless, he had overheard them talking, whispering behind his back on more than one occasion, their words making him colder every time he heard them. _Strange, unnatural, useless._

But they were civil enough to Morgana, and Gwen in particular doted on her, so Merlin was content. Morgana, though she complained of not living in the city, seemed happy enough. She had Gwen for company, most days.

Merlin smiled faintly and traced one of the lines in the wood with a forefinger, savouring the feel of sanded wood, the whorls and patterns hidden like secrets. He began carving again.

:i:

"One day, Papa was singing by the sea. He had the most beautiful voice in all of England, and even the wild albatrosses would stop to listen. Women everywhere would sigh and lean out their windows as he walked past, throwing down their handkerchiefs.

"Papa never spoke, but sang. And that day – it was in the middle of spring - he was standing atop a grassy hill overlooking the ocean. He sang, and sang, and the music was so beautiful it roused the mermaid sleeping beneath the water. No! It's true – it was a lady living in the cove. When she heard Papa, she was so jealous of his singing that she wove a curse to steal his voice.

"And between one word and the next, he grew silent. And has been ever since."

:i:

Morgana walked in on Merlin playing the piano.

Of course, it wasn't the real piano.

The real piano was gone.

Morgana stood in the doorway, staring at the keyboard etched into the surface of the table, her eyes very round and very blue. Merlin was half-turned toward the door, his hands frozen in their positions above the keys, the last phrase of Chopin hanging in the air.

"Oh, Papa," said Morgana, after a long moment. She looked sad, and there was something close to pity in her eyes which made Merlin want to shrink away.

Merlin took his hands away from the table.

Hesitantly, his fingers formed the words;

_Did you have a good day?_

Morgana didn't answer but retreated back out the door.

That night, Merlin couldn't sleep. He shivered under the pale moonlight and played the keys on the table, fingers darting by touch, moving over them blindly like someone hypnotised. The house was deadly silent, the trees echoing the waves of an ocean Merlin couldn't see. He let his fingers draw themselves across the table like dancers, because there was no music, and the absence of it was so painful Merlin did not have the words to describe it.

Words had never done anything for him, anyway.

He sat there in front of the would-be keys, fingers tapping until the tips were rubbed raw. He imagined that somewhere, the piano was safe and sound, with a new lover to care for it and a new soul to possess.

_Tap. Tap tap. Tap._

And Arthur woke in the middle of the night, as the piano downstairs began to play.

/LJ EMBED - 'VALSE de A'MELIE, END EXTRACT

:i:

When Merlin woke, the sun was already streaming through the open window.

He winced as the glare of it stung his eyes. There was an ache in his neck, and looking around blearily, Merlin realised he had fallen asleep on the desk, back bent over his arms, which felt numb. Slowly, his senses returned, and he realised what had woken him, apart from the warmth of the sun. There were unfamiliar voices somewhere, muffled by the long hallway. Merlin stretched, working the stiffness from his shoulders as he stood up and made his way to the door, opening it and peering around the corner cautiously.

Light spilled onto the wall opposite the front of the house…which meant that the door was open. A visitor? There weren't many visitors to Valiant's house; Merlin had barely seen anyone since they arrived here. Even the postman merely left the letters on the front veranda.

Merlin cocked his head, listening intently. It was a man's voice, somehow familiar-like a childhood tune one had forgotten. Merlin dithered, glancing at Morgana's bedroom door across the hallway. Perhaps he should just return to his room and wait until the stranger went away.

As he stood in the doorway, undecided, the choice was taken away from him when one of the maids – Maud?- bustled down the hall towards him. Merlin froze, hand still on the brass doorknob.

"Ah, Master Emrys, you're awake. Good. Mister Pendragon is here to see you," she said, looking rather disapprovingly at Merlin's rumpled shirt and creased trousers. His hair must look something horrific, if her expression was anything to go by.

Merlin was about to ask her why _Pendragon _of all people would be visiting him, but before his hands were even half way raised, she had brushed past him and through another door. Merlin let his hands fall, irritated. He still had the choice of simply turning back and barricading himself in his room. The morning was still too cold, too bright for him to deal with. The silence was stifling, and he felt as if he had not drawn breath since last night.

"You know, it's rude to keep your guests waiting," came a male voice, and Merlin startled, whipping around to see that Arthur was somehow leaning against the opposite wall, smirking at him.

Merlin glared.

Arthur pushed himself from the wall.

"I have something I must…discuss with you." From his coat pocket, Arthur drew a brown notepad, along with an expensive-looking fountain pen. He proffered it to Merlin, who took it warily. He was strangely touched that Arthur – a complete stranger – had…

He looked down at the pen and paper in his hands and sighed. Closing his bedroom door behind him, Merlin gestured for Arthur to follow him into the living room.

"I realise this may be rather odd, but you must promise to hear me out," said Arthur. His voice was full of music, thought Merlin wistfully, each word a different note and emotion. It was like a breath of fresh air, something new and beautiful in a house Merlin had come to see as a cage.

He nodded, and they sat opposite each other in the comfortable wicker-spun chairs. Merlin scrawled a word on the page, holding it up.

_Tea?_

Arthur shook his head.

"No, thank you," he said, painfully polite (yet still a prat).

Merlin shrugged and waited.

"I suppose there is no point in beating about the bush," said Arthur after a little pause. Merlin nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from the man's face. He kept getting distracted by the music floating off into the ceiling and chandeliers as Arthur spoke.

"Something…rather strange happened last night. As you're aware, I recently acquired the piano from your…husband. But the thing-"

Merlin dropped the pen.

"_Hey_, hey, are you alright?"

Hands shaking, Merlin scrambled to pick up the pen from the floor with one hand, the other gripping the pad of paper with white knuckles. His heart was too large for his chest, and Merlin managed to write one word, the nib tearing the paper as his hands shook with shock.

Arthur took the paper from him.

_Piano?_

Arthur frowned at him, brows furrowing.

"Yes. The piano that Valiant sold on your behalf?"

Merlin stared at Arthur, feeling sick to the stomach. Arthur was studying him with a strange expression on his face.

"…From your reaction, I assume you _didn't_ know about this?"

Numb, Merlin shook his head.

Arthur pushed the pen and notebook back into Merlin's hands.

"Did you know, then?" he asked, and Merlin could not understand the question. Know what? His mind had been stuck in a loop again: Arthur, Arthur, Arthur had his piano.

He wrote.

_Is it safe?_

"What?" asked Arthur. Then his expression cleared. "The piano? Oh, yes. I suppose so – it's sitting in the ball room."

_Thank you._ Wrote Merlin, relief washing over him, warm like a fond memory. The piano – not his piano anymore - was at least whole and well. Merlin had feared that Valiant had sold the piano off to someone who would chop it down for wood or use it to store clothes or any of a number of horrific things.

"Well?" prompted Arthur.

Merlin stared back, confused.

"Last night, I was woken by the sound of music. When I went downstairs to check, the keys of the piano were moving of their own volition, playing some kind of waltz. It was…eerie."

Merlin couldn't take his eyes away.

He shook his head, blinking, and wrote:

_Dreaming?_

Arthur made an irritated, growling sort of noise at the back of his throat.

"No! I sat down right in front of it and the keys were _still _moving. What's wrong with it?"

Merlin bristled. He scrawled another note.

_Nothing's wrong._

"Pianos don't play by themselves, Master _Emrys._"

_Shows how much you know._

Merlin underlined the word "you" twice. Then bolded it, slapping the note book into Arthur's palm. There was a painful, twisted feeling somewhere in his chest, a little like hope. But Merlin had learnt the hard way that hope was best kept to yourself, buried somewhere deep and easily forgotten.

"Has it done this before?" asked Arthur, and he was staring at Merlin again, trying to catch his gaze. Merlin found it strange and disconcerting. Usually people _avoided _his eyes, as if his silence could be contagious, something to be side-stepped. Arthur didn't seem to have gotten the message.

Merlin took the pen hesitantly.

_I don't know,_ he wrote, accidentally smudging the inky letters with his hand when he passed the notebook back, eyes averted.

"How can you not know?" demanded Arthur prattishly. "If your piano is haunted, I'm not keeping it in the house! God knows what might happen."

Merlin's heart lurched.

_It's not doing any harm, _he wrote, the trembling in his hands making the letters a little wonky. Then - _Please don't sell her._

Arthur took the notebook, smoothing his fingers over the thick paper. He looked so at ease, reclined in the chair in a sprawl of limbs that somehow spoke of lazy grace, feet crossed at the ankles, pants immaculately pressed, the gold chain of a pocket watch hanging over his breast pocket. He was at out of place here as Merlin was.

And he was _still _staring at Merlin.

"What happened to your hands?" he asked, abruptly, leaning forwards and taking Merlin's left hand in both of his. Merlin fought the instinct to jerk back. His surprise must have shown on his face, though, for Arthur said quickly,

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." But he didn't let go of Merlin's hand.

Arthur's hands were warm and calloused, huge, enveloping Merlin's own. They spoke of work – hunting? - and the sun that had tanned them. Merlin's own hands, in contrast, were pale and smooth, fingertips tapered. They were bruised, the skin abraded from a night playing an imaginary piano. Arthur ran the pad of his thumb over them and Merlin winced, shrugging.

"You should get some salve for this," he said, finally letting go of Merlin's hand.

Arthur looked down at the notebook once more.

"I won't sell it," he said and Merlin let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The corner of Arthur's lips quirked upwards.

"Now that I know you were not…aware of the sale, I would return it to you…" Merlin shook his head regretfully, glancing at the door to the living room, still ajar. "…but I do not think Stewart would like that very much."

Merlin looked away.

"You're welcome to visit and play the instrument. God knows I don't play the piano," said Arthur and Merlin's head jerked upwards in surprise.

He tilted his head to the side in question, and Arthur smiled, the expression lighting up the room. It made Merlin rather breathless, as if he had missed a step going down the stairs.

"We don't want the instrument to go to waste, do we?," said Arthur, tapping his nose with his index finger. "It's bad luck."

Merlin nodded, numb with disbelief.

"You can consider the piano yours," said Arthur, and Merlin's eyes widened. "On one condition."

Merlin wrote a single word.

_Anything._

"Play for me."

:i:

"Who was that, Papa? You were talking for _ages._"

Morgana was standing in her bedroom doorway, rubbing a fist in her eye to clear away sleep. She looked curiously at the front door. Merlin closed it with a snap.

_Arthur Pendragon._

Morgana raised both eyebrows. It was an uncanny expression for one so young.

"Really?"

_Yes. _Merlin nodded and, for the first time in a long time, felt his lips curl upwards in a genuine smile. _He invited me. Afternoon tea._

Morgana looked taken a back at her father's expression, and Merlin felt his smile falter a little.

"Afternoon tea," repeated Morgana, her head tilted to one side, frowning a little.

Belatedly, Merlin gestured with both hands, fingers pressed together than apart.

_Would you like to-_

"No," sniffed Morgana, "I'm busy with Gwen this afternoon."

Merlin blinked, feeling as if he had been doused with cold water. Without another word, Morgana turned and disappeared back into her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her.

:i:

Merlin tugged at the stiff collar of his shirt and looked down once more at the paper in his hands. Arthur's handwriting was thick and sharp in black ink, a list of streets and names which would lead Merlin to the Pendragon Manor.

It had taken Merlin more than half an hour to reach the outskirts of town. He had walked, not wanting to borrow one of Valiant's horses in case the man returned early or in some other way discovered that Merlin had taken a horse without his say-so. Merlin didn't want to find out what Valiant's reaction might be, so he had worn his best jacket, attempted to comb back his hair, and set off on foot.

When Merlin finally arrived at the manor, tired and feet aching, he found the front gates barred shut. The wrought iron work was at least two stories high, dark grey, with a crest at the centre made of smoothly crafted metal: a dragon with its talons unsheathed.

Through the iron gates, Merlin could see a wide, white-gravel driveway, which split around a gurgling fountain to circle past the imposing front doors of the manor house. He could make out rich, red curtains through the French windows and a closely cropped lawn either side of the path. His piano had certainly found itself a comfortable home.

Merlin wondered how he was supposed to get in. Glancing about, he noticed a large, golden bell hanging from the stone pillar to the right of the gates, and he walked over to it. Glancing up at the house, Merlin wrapped a hand around the braided leather cord and _tugged._

The sound of the bell echoed through the iron gates in waves, distorted and bright, and made Merlin wince a little at the volume. A long moment passed without anything happening.

Merlin was just contemplating ringing the bell again when there was a movement at the front of the house. Snatching his hand back, Merlin watched as the front door opened and a man with a head of white-grey hair and a shuffling walk made his way around the fountain and towards him.

Perhaps Merlin had gotten the wrong house.

Before he had the chance to run, however, the man was standing in front of the gates, giving Merlin a shrewd look. Merlin thought one of his eyebrows was giving him a particularly disapproving glare all on its own.

"Are you Emrys?" the man asked.

Merlin nodded.

"Ah. You're late. Master Pendragon is expecting you."

There was much clinking of chain and padlock before the man drew back one gate on a well oiled hinge and gestured for Merlin to come in. Nervous, Merlin slipped through the gap between the gates and tried not to regret his decision too much when it clanged shut behind him. He fiddled with the hem of his jacket as he followed the man to the house.

"I am Master Pendragon's butler, Gaius," he said, bowing Merlin through the door.

After the sunshine outside, Merlin had to blink several times for his eyes to adjust to the darker hallway. The cream wallpaper stretched upwards towards a high ceiling, faint gold-leaf patterns in the _fleur de lis_. The butler, Gaius, walked a little in front of Merlin, opening door after door, through one elaborate room after another. Even in London, Merlin had scarcely seen such luxuries.

As Gaius led them into a wide gallery, Merlin paused.

There was music.

More specifically, there was the sound of a piano being played - badly. The high notes stuck out like hammers, the left hand out of time, accidentals everywhere like frost in summer, strange and jarring. Merlin winced.

The butler chuckled. They were standing in front of large double doors of polished oak. Gaius twisted the golden handles downwards, then pushed open the heavy doors to reveal a high-ceilinged ballroom, full of sunlight and terrible music and dark parquet floors.

There was a yelp of surprise and a clatter as the man in the far end of the hall leapt up, knocking the piano stool over.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Arthur, stalking over and leaving the chair on its side. Merlin glared.

Gaius inclined his head and his eyebrow.

"Master Emrys here to see you, sir," said the Butler. Merlin thought he might have been suppressing another chuckle.

"You could have knocked," said Arthur, his bottom lip jutting out. He was _pouting. _Merlin stared.

"I did not want to interrupt your playing, sir."

Merlin watched as Arthur's eyes snapped to him and then away again, a pink flush rising in Arthur's cheeks. Merlin glared some more. If _he _had been killing a piano so fluently, Merlin would have been mortally embarrassed also.

"Emrys," said Arthur, turning to him at last. "Hey!" he added when he realised Merlin was no longer by his side, but half way across the room, making a beeline for the piano in the corner.

"_Excuse_ me," continued Arthur, and Merlin could hear footsteps hurrying after him. _Tap tap tapping_. The sound echoed in the empty ballroom, off the windows, muffled by the drapes. "You're being rather rude!"

Merlin ignored him and righted the piano stool, throwing glare over his shoulder. Smoothing down the well-loved leather, Merlin sat carefully, feet automatically reaching for the pedals, hands for the keyboard. He let his eyelids fall shut, feeling the warmth of sunshine on the back of his neck, the world falling away rapidly. His fingers curled over the keys.

It felt like going home.

"Go on then," said Arthur, his voice snapping Merlin out of his happy reverie.

He looked up.

"Play for me."

Arthur was sitting, reclined in a comfortable chair facing Merlin and the piano, long fingers tapping on the arm, a smirk on his face. Not bothering to go through the motions of replying, Merlin turned back to the keys. He took a breath, smelling mint, sunlight, and the scent of wood and rosin that was his piano.

Merlin began to play.

He played the same tune he had that night on the desk, fingers skimming over the table, music roiling in his head. And now, there _was _music, there was _sound_ and not the endless silence of words. The way the song echoed off the parquet and around Merlin's shoulders made him feel as if he might faint, his chest too tight for the swell of his heart.

/embed, LA VALSE DE AMALIE - FULL

In his peripheral vision, Merlin saw Arthur sit bolt upright as the tune wound its way about his wrists.

"That-!" exclaimed Arthur. "The piano was playing that last night!"

Merlin didn't quite understand the words. They melted into the music, washed away in the tide of sound. The sunlight made Arthur's hair shine gold, distracting. Merlin tried not to see, tried not to _look_, letting the left hand fly up the keys to hide the faltering of the tune.

He needed this moment for his piano alone, a part of himself Merlin thought he had lost.

Merlin played on and on and didn't stop.

:i:

Merlin went back to the Manor the next day.

And the next.

And the next, because he was unable to keep away. At night, he could feel the pull of music and _home_ like the ocean feeling the pull of the moon – unable to resist.

"You know," said Arthur one lazy afternoon. He gestured at the piano, ring flashing in the sunlight, "…always so _depressing_. Play something happy, for a change."

Merlin shot him a dirty look over the top of the piano, the music not pausing at all, modulating into C minor to prove a point.

"Ah, come now," said Arthur, waving a hand. He was reclined in his usual seat, a jacket thrown over the arm of the chair, shirt collar unbuttoned.

"Why always the Chopin?"

Merlin threw up his hands, grabbing the notebook on the top of the piano and scribbling down a sentence. He threw it at Arthur's head. The man caught it with one hand, smirking.

_It's not Chopin, you stupid prat._

"It sounds like Chopin," said Arthur stubbornly, "with twiddly bits."

He wiggled the fingers of his right hand for emphasis.

Merlin gave Arthur a _you're-stupid _look.

"Play something happy," insisted Arthur, tossing the notebook back onto the piano so it skidded on the polished surface and dropped onto the keys with a blare of discords. Merlin scowled and placed the book back on the stand. His impromptus had the tendency to be rather melancholy – Merlin found it difficult to play something so happy it barely touched his soul. It was like lying, almost. Up until now, he had always played for himself and himself only. He didn't have to worry about what people liked to hear, because he didn't play for an audience.

Arthur, on the other hand…

"_Indulge_ me," said Arthur, blue eyes wide with faux-innocence.

Merlin sighed, pursing his lips in annoyance. And began to play.

/EMBED FINGER BUSTER

The music built in his fingertips, and Merlin deliberately chose a piece full of 'twiddly' things, as Arthur had described them. It was a piece full of nothing but finger work, sparkling melody that raced in circles up and down, up and down. It was almost comical, full of sparkle and joy that made the sunlight twist into shapes in the air above Arthur's head. Merlin could almost hear the frantic _tap tap tap _of his fingernails on the keys, like the steps of dancers behind him, filling the ballroom with spinning shadows.

Arthur stood up slowly and came over to the piano, eyes wide with what Merlin recognised as surprise and…incredulity? He altered the path of the music, picking up the pace even more as the seconds and jazz chords danced across the octave. The sunlight was gold in Arthur's hair and his mouth was slightly open, impressed, one elbow resting on the top of the piano as he leant over to watch Merlin's fingers race across the keyboard.

The look on Arthur's face was so ridiculous, Merlin felt something unfamiliar burble up inside his chest. He didn't know what it was until it was too much to keep away and he threw back his head to laugh, silent and exhilarating, and then Arthur was laughing, and it was - the sound was _glorious._

Merlin ended the piece with a flourish, a twirl and a bow of notes so he could hear Arthur's laughter, pure and golden and _better than music._ Merlin found himself staring, unable to tear his gaze away even as Arthur eyes found his and Merlin blushed.

When Arthur's laughter died down, he said,

"That was. God." Arthur shook his head. "That was…disturbing."

Merlin's smile dropped from his face. He raised both eyebrows.

Arthur wiggled all his fingers.

"I mean! Are fingers supposed to move that fast? Is that natural?"

Merlin slapped Arthur's hands, which were leaving fingerprints all over the piano lid.

"Ow!"

Merlin sniffed.

Arthur looked vaguely apologetic.

"Alright, perhaps not disturbing, per se. But still unnatural."

Merlin wrote:

_There is just no pleasing some people._

Arthur was still leaning on the piano, chin resting on fist.

"Fairly amazing, I'll give you that," he said. He was smiling – Merlin noticed that Arthur tended to smile a lot when he was playing the piano, a small, beautiful thing at once expressive and somehow intimate. It lit a fire in Merlin's heart.

He shook his sleeves dramatically, then began playing the first notes of the Moonlight Sonata; sombre and stately and-

"Merlin!" exclaimed Arthur, face contorted comically. "No! Stop! Have mercy, _no Beethoven_!"

:i:

At some point, it became _playing for Arthur, _instead of _playing the piano._

:i:


	3. III

**:i:**

"_After silence, that which comes nearest to _

_expressing the inexpressible is music."_

A. Huxley.

**iii.**

Arthur gifted Valiant with two of his best mares.

To be precise, Arthur gifted Valiant with two mares, one specifically for Merlin.

"You've been _walking _all this way?"

_It's not far._

"That's just stupid."

_You're stupid._

"Very mature."

_I can't borrow Valiant's horses, _wrote Merlin. The notebook was now almost full with his and Arthur's conversations, page after page of scrawled sentences and slightly smudged letters.

"Why not?"

To that, Merlin just shrugged and looked away.

"I have no need of them," Arthur said a few days later. Merlin was leaning out the open window of his room to listen. Arthur's voice was muffled through the long grass and trees, but the wind still carried it around the house. There was a murmured response from Valiant.

"…a favour, really," continued Arthur, "…them off my hands…"

"…well…"

"…for Emrys, best tempered horse I've ever…"

And to Merlin's relief, Valiant was not suspicious at all, did not ask any questions about Merlin and Arthur. He simply said, whilst they were eating dinner,

"Pendragon seems to think highly of you. God knows why."

And that was that.

"You're early today," Arthur said the next morning. It was barely noon; the duration of Merlin's journey from Valiant's house to the manor had been halved by the mare. Merlin was sure he could go even faster if he got more practice with riding. He winced when he slipped off the saddle, then stumbled when his unsteady feet reached the ground. He slipped the horse - _- a small apple as an apology for riding like a sack of potatoes.

Arthur _tsk_ed.

"You'll spoil her rotten," he admonished, giving the reins to a stable boy who had appeared out of thin air.

Merlin shrugged and wiped his hands on the back of his trousers, letting Arthur lead him inside and through the hallways until Arthur pushed open the heavy double doors of the ballroom. It was a fine day, and all the floor-length curtains had been drawn back. Sunlight was streaming through the glass, half falling on the piano.

This time, there were sandwiches set out on a large, silver platter on a coffee table next to the piano. There were also tea, light buttered scones, and biscuits. Merlin raised an eyebrow at Arthur.

"One gets peckish, just sitting here," said Arthur defensively, "and they're for you, not me. Sugar should be your staple diet; you're far too thin."

Merlin rolled his eyes, settling once more before the piano. Arthur shrugged off his jacket and dropped it into wicker chair, before coming over and leaning curiously over the piano. Merlin gave him a wary look.

"Something…cheerful," said Arthur, for the millionth time.

_I don't do cheerful, _wrote Merlin, stabbing the metal nib so the full stop punched a hole in the paper.

"Make something up," commanded Arthur with a flick of the hand. That hand came to rest on top of the folded music stand (Merlin never played with music), fingers tapping absently, curved at the second knuckle. Merlin could almost feel the vibration all the way through the body of the piano and into the keys. Only when Arthur waved a hand in front of Merlin's face did Merlin realise he had been staring. He blinked, looking up.

"Hel_lo_," said Arthur, still waving his hand.

The smell of tea and sugar floated over Arthur's shoulder, making Merlin fuzzy.

_I'm not a vinyl, you know,_ he wrote. Then he had an idea.

Merlin slid over on the piano stool, so that half was empty. He pointed at Arthur, then at the vacant half of the seat.

Arthur looked sceptical.

"What? I can't pla- I _mean, _you're supposed to be playing _for me_."

Merlin widened his eyes and pointed some more, in what he hoped was a suitably intimidating gesture. At last, Arthur gave in and dropped onto the seat next to Merlin with a self-sacrificing _sigh. _And perhaps this brilliant idea wasn't so brilliant anymore because Merlin was suddenly aware of how close together they were – squished on the narrow piano stool. The warmth of Arthur's arm seeped through Merlin's thin jacket, and through his trousers Arthur's leg was pressed against Merlin's.

Merlin tried shifting to the left a little more.

"What now?" asked Arthur.

Merlin placed his right hand on the piano, curving his fingers over each key in demonstration. He looked At Arthur expectantly.

"Look," Arthur started indignantly, "I know how to-"

Merlin elbowed him in the side.

"Fine!"

Arthur curved his fingers onto the keys, wrist rigid and stiff as a mannequin, looking triumphant when all fingers were placed dead centre on the right keys.

"I have perfect posture, alright?"

Merlin wanted to bang his head into the piano. He picked up the pen and scrawled a note.

_Did you learn out of a book?_

Arthur looked shifty.

"I may have."

Merlin shook his wrist to show how relaxed the hand should be. Arthur frowned and shook his own wrist, which promptly returned to its original, sculpted state. Perhaps this hadn't been a good idea. It probably wouldn't be nice to clobber Arthur over the head, but Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that teaching Arthur how to play the piano was going to be a long journey.

He took Arthur's hand in both of his own, ignoring the way Arthur tensed at the touch. He tried to bend Arthur's fingers, get them to _relax_ and loosen. Arthur's hand was very warm in his own, palms rough, skin tanned on the long, long fingers-_pianist _fingers. Merlin thought he could fall in love with Arthur's hands.

"Merlin?"

Merlin let go, hastily.

He played a short sequence of notes, slowly. Frowning with concentration, Arthur copied, his notes stilted. He played each note as if hitting a target, the sound too loud on the parquet floor. Merlin grinned.

Arthur scowled.

"Don't. Laugh," he said warningly before playing the sequence again. And again. And again. It was beginning to lose what little rhythm it had. Merlin shook his head, and Arthur paused.

They continued in this fashion; a few more bars at a time, until Arthur had committed almost a minute's worth of melody to memory. It was all very impressive, really, and Merlin laughed at Arthur's triumphant expression when he played the whole song through, without break. His notes were still mechanical and he sometimes missed the right one – but it was better than the slaughtering Merlin had heard that first day in the Manor.

"Are we done yet?" asked Arthur, trying to look bored- though he was smiling. The smile was full of white, not-quite-straight teeth, and it was more blinding than the afternoon sunshine. Merlin found himself smiling back, and he shook his head, gesturing for Arthur to put his hand back on the piano. Placing his own left hand two octaves lower, Merlin held up his right.

_One. Two. Three-_

He did this with Morgana, when she tired of her etudes and, later, nearly everything that needed practice. As Arthur played a stumbling melody in the treble, Merlin improvised the accompaniment, carrying the music with the left hand. He had to knock Arthur's legs out of the way to reach the pedals, because he had discovered that Arthur only had two modes of pedalling: all the way down, or nothing at all.

Merlin saw Arthur glance at him out of the corner of his eye, something akin to curiosity in his expression as the once dry tune transformed into a waltz. Arthur's fingers faltered a little, but then kept going, the tune fumbling its way back into rhythm.

Merlin couldn't stop smiling.

:i:

"Are you happy, Merlin?" asked Arthur, one winter afternoon.

It had become suddenly cold in the ballroom in the past week or so, and Arthur had had the piano moved to a smaller, cosier living room. It was one of the many that riddled the manor, with matching wicker chairs and mahogany tables. A small fire was crackling in the hearth, and the heavy curtains were drawn aside to let in the weak December sun.

Their last piano 'lesson' had been inconclusive.

Arthur simply could not fathom how Merlin could concentrate on so many twiddly notes all at the same time (or often at different times), and _why _the wrist had to be as limp as an overcooked spaghetti. When Merlin played, his hands moved like water over the keys. When Arthur played, he looked like a clockwork machine; trying to keep his fingers curved yet _relaxed _at the same time. It simply did not make sense. There was no set _technique, _like, say, shooting a gun. It was all uncontainable things with Merlin, _emotions, passions, and -_

So Arthur went back to watching and observing instead, occasionally requesting pieces, occasionally pretending to be immersed in paperwork.

Merlin looked at him, hands folded in his lap, head to one side. Even without words, Merlin could say an extraordinary amount with expression. His eyes were a strange blue that in firelight and in laughter turned almost golden. Then again, in all honesty, Arthur knew he was a little biased when it came to such things (specifically, Merlin). There was a rosy blush on Merlin's cheeks from the fire and the sweet tea with which Arthur had plied him ten minutes ago, and he looked positively-

Well.

To Arthur's question, Merlin did not shake his head. Nor did he nod. After a moment, he only smiled a little before turning back to the keyboard. And began to play.

/ EMBED CHOPIN NOCTURNE

_Chopin._

Though Arthur couldn't _play _the piano very well, he certainly knew music. Theoretically. He had tried to teach himself the instrument, more to impress the ladies than anything else – but as Merlin had found out, Arthur and the keyboard didn't agree well with each other.

_Chopin, _thought Arthur, unable to suppress a smile on his own face as contentment spread through his chest to the tip of his fingers and toes. It was by far the most romantic thing Merlin had played so far, over the last few months. When Merlin was particularly indulgent, he would play Arthur fickle impromptus, cheerful and light. When he got annoyed, he would play Beethoven, or Prokofiev if he wanted to pull Arthur's nerves. When Arthur was tense and tired from work and business, Merlin would look at him over the top of the piano and play Brahms like a soothing caress.

Once, Merlin had not turned up at the manor for three days. After the routine into which they had settled, his absence had tugged at Arthur like a wound, so that he'd worried and fumed in turns over the three days – wanting to go and see if Merlin was alright, yet at the same time telling himself he shouldn't _care so much. _When Merlin had come back, late on the fourth afternoon, he had refused to explain in the notebook. He had refused to answer anything at all. Instead, he had played Fugue after Fugue after Fugue, desperately, as if all the voices in the Bach would drive away something unseen. Arthur had had to pull him away when his shaking hands had blurred the frantic semiquavers until they were a mess of tears. It was the first time Arthur saw Merlin cry.

But now it was _Chopin._ When Arthur asked for Chopin, Merlin gave him a flat look that said, _Who do you think you are?, _and played him something sombre and funereal. And Arthur had slowly begun to figure out why. Merlin was a puzzle, an enigma wrapped in silence and music – and all his music showed his emotions more plainly than anything. And Merlin was playing him this nocturne, poignant, poetic, and beautiful, and making Arthur feel a yearning that he couldn't define.

A shivering passage, quick as a waterfall, full of running notes that tinkled off the china cups. Twiddly, even. Merlin met Arthur's gaze as he played, and his smile widened.

Arthur thought Merlin could express happiness better than any words.

:i:

"So I hear you've hardly been home," said Valiant, and Merlin froze.

He tried to look suitably innocent and puzzled.

"Going out in the mornings and coming back just before dark. Is that right?"

Distantly, he could hear Morgana's shrill voice saying something to Gwen, then muffled laughter.

Merlin's heart was beating fast in his chest, like a bird in the claws of a cat. He tried to school his features into a countenance bland and only mildly interested. He shrugged. Belatedly, he realised it was the wrong thing to do.

Valiant took a step closer, one hand rising, and Merlin didn't know whether it was to hit him or to grab him, but he took a step backwards instinctively. The hand dropped.

"Well?" asked Valiant, voice low and calm, full of danger.

With fumbling fingers, Merlin pulled out the notebook (and _oh gods, he can't let Valiant get hold of this book, eve_r) and a pen, writing a hasty sentence out on a new page. He turned it around, hands clutching the book even as Valiant reached for it.

_I go riding. But not for that long a time._

"Indeed," said Valiant, voice sarcastic. "Well. So long as you keep out of my way."

He stepped away, and Merlin let out a tiny breath of relief, closing the notebook and tucking it back inside his pocket. He turned toward the door, but Valiant said-

"If I find out you're doing something more than riding around in the cove…"

Merlin opened his eyes as wide as they would go, shaking his head in what he hoped was an earnest, innocent fashion. It seemed to work, because Valiant snorted once, contemptuously, then strode out of the living room, calling for Morgana, _darling, button._

When Merlin was sure Valiant had gone, he sank into one of the chairs, legs weak, the cap of the fountain pen digging into his palm.

:i:

There were always two worlds.

Waking and sleeping. Before, Merlin had always lived in a dream, a dry grey world that turned and turned and couldn't stop. The only time when he was awake was with his piano, playing out words that needed to be said amongst the overwhelming silence of pointless conversation. His piano, a constant, faithful, _safe _companion that could be put away under covers, taken out to be sung for and loved.

But now.

_Now._

With Arthur, he was awake.

When Merlin dreamed, he dreamed of Arthur.

:i:

Early spring: new grass was poking through the sheets of frost and ice. Thin, wild flowers the colour of the pale sun began growing on the edges of the forest paths, in wild fields, reminding Merlin of Morgana's yellow dress (now too small for her).

Even the ocean was singing.

When Merlin saw Arthur, he beamed, gesturing enthusiastically without dismounting.

"What are you doing?" asked Arthur, perplexed, but Merlin only beckoned and turned his horse back the way he had come, forcing Arthur to call quickly his own stallion. Merlin let the cold wind stream through his hair, and laughed when he heard the thud of hooves behind him. He urged his own mare into a slow canter, but of course Arthur caught up within seconds.

"You _idiot!_" he said, but he was laughing. "I'm wearing my best loafers! Do you have any- _careful, _Merlin!"

Merlin had rolled his eyes, which had somehow made him almost lose his balance and topple from his saddle. With a some flailing of arms, he managed to stay on, the mare slowing to a walk before returning to a trot as the path twisted and turned into green.

Merlin led them off the wide road, and as they went, the grass grew longer, the flowers thicker, and the trees fuller with pale new leaves.

"_Mer_lin. I think it's going to rain soon. Where are we going?"

Merlin kept going, urging the mare faster, hands clutching tight around the reins as he took the right fork in the path, Arthur just behind. The leaves rustled like waves, _hush, hush, hush, _birds trilling their serenades unseen. Merlin rode on and on.

/embed KRISTOFFESON"S THEME

Rain began to filter through the thick canopy above them, cold wet dew that tasted sweet yet of the ocean.

"_Mer_lin! What – oh!"

And then suddenly the trees thinned, and they were on the top of a grassy hill overlooking the cove, the view so large it took your breath away. The horizon was barely visible, because out there was no cloud to be seen, only the blue of the sky and the blue of the ocean the same colour as Arthur's eyes. Gulls flew high in the distance, peppering the sky with white.

Without the trees, the rain soaked Merlin's hair in minutes, and he turned his face up to the sky, open-mouthed, rainbows on his tongue. He laughed.

Merlin dismounted a little clumsily, and Arthur followed suit, tying the horses to a nearby branch. He walked forwards, footsteps crunching and squelching on the ground. Merlin turned to look at him, taking in the way his combed-back hair was now plastered to his head. Merlin reached up and ruffled it into further disarray.

"Hey!" protested Arthur, lunging for Merlin, who let out a scream of silent laughter and ran for the edge of the hill, only to be tackled halfway into the wet grass. "You little –", said Arthur, mock furious, "let's see if you're still laughing when -" Merlin pushed Arthur's face into the ground and got to his feet, running. "Oi, _come here_!"

He caught Merlin around the waist and they went down again, Arthur rubbing the top of Merlin's head with a fist so his hair stuck up on end. Merlin's hands were dirty with water and mud, knees stained green like a child's, but Arthur was warm against his back, and he leaned into him unconsciously.

The rain came down, droplets heavier. Merlin stuck out his tongue.

"What _are_ we doing out here?" asked Arthur, slightly out of breath a minute later. They were both sprawled on the grass, being drenched in rain. Merlin rolled over onto his side, pushing himself up by the elbows. Arthur sat up.

Merlin took one of Arthur's hands, turning it palm up. Arthur obediently kept his fingers unfurled, watching Merlin with that curious way he had; at once endearing and shrewd. With his free hand, Merlin reached hesitantly for Arthur's face.

"What-"

_Shhh._

Gently, he closed Arthur's eyes.

The wind rustled through the forest from the ocean, the smell of salt tangy in the air.

"Okay, this is weird," said Arthur, still not shutting up. Merlin huffed. The rain was strangely soothing, even though their shirts were sticking to skin, jacket turning dark with water. Merlin blinked rain from his eyes, holding Arthur's hand more firmly in his own. He traced a letter into Arthur's palm with the tip of one finger, making Arthur shiver.

No response. Merlin did it again, pressing his fingertip into the grooves of Arthur's palm.

"…L?" said Arthur, puzzled.

Merlin traced another letter.

"I?...S…T…F no, E. Was that an E? Okay. E… N."

_Listen._

_Listen to the rain and the waves_. _Hush, hush, hush. _

Merlin leant forwards, painting another letter on Arthur's hand. Warm, so warm in his own.

"…L."

Merlin smiled.

"…O?" He could see Arthur swallowing nervously.

"…V- er. No. That was an O. …K. Look. Look?"

Arthur opened his eyes, and Merlin kissed him chastely on the lips.

:i:

The maids found out about the table in Merlin's room late one afternoon, when Merlin was with Arthur.

Merlin had no idea that something was amiss until his back collided painfully with the door, the brass knob hitting the base of Merlin's spine with a jarring _crack. _Valiant was right there, too close, too angry, hands raised in fists, and Merlin scrambled for the doorknob behind his back, tumbling backwards into his room.

Valiant followed, blocking all the light from the hallway.

"What the _hell _have you been doing?" said Valiant, voice dark with anger and Merlin backed further into the room, fumbling desperately in his pockets for the notebook; gods, he could explain, it would be alright. He just needed to _explain_.

Pen. Merlin nearly dropped it in his haste, scrawling _there's no harm done, it's just a pia_

Valiant crossed the room in three strides and snatched the thick notebook from Merlin's hands before he could finish, eyes narrowing. Merlin had no time to react before Valiant threw the book, hard, at Merlin's face.

Merlin reeled backwards as the corner of the thick spine hit him in the eye, across the temple. Sharp pain, it felt like being blinded; he clutched at his face.

"No harm? No _harm?" _shouted Valiant. "How dare you trespass upon my hospitality like this?"

The book was on the floor somewhere, and Merlin squinted in the darkness, trying to find it. He tried to block out Valiant's voice, too loud in the silence of the night. Merlin hadn't caught the book, Arthur gave him that notebook, he needed- he needed-

Another vicious shove to the chest and Merlin hit the wall, his right shoulder taking most of the impact, the breath knocked out of his body. He gasped, trying to stay upright, blinking furiously to get rid of the tears welling behind his eyes. He couldn't see Valiant's face properly with the moonlight making the shadows of his expression grotesque as he stalked forwards, and Merlin clutched the window frame with white knuckles.

"That piece of furniture is worth _more than your life_, do you hear? More than your fucking life! If you _ever-_"

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Valiant spun around.

The handle turned, door opening with a creek. Morgana's head appeared in the doorway.

"Daddy."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" asked Valiant, demeanour changing completely, though Merlin noticed his hands were still clenched at his side.

Merlin saw Morgana's blue eyes dart from Valiant to Merlin, then back again. She smiled thinly.

"I'm going to bed."

"Okay, button. I'm just talking to your-"

Morgana took a breath, her mouth twisting in a wry smile.

"There's something in my closet."

That was a weak excuse to anyone who knew Morgana at all. If there was indeed something in her closet, you would only know about it after the girl had trapped it, chopped its head off, and presented it to you on a plaque. Valiant, however, didn't know Morgana properly. He sighed and strode towards the door, not giving Merlin a backward glance, ushering Morgana away down the hall.

"…closet? Really, I don't think…"

"…it rattled!..."

Merlin sank down onto the bed, relief cold in his chest like drowning. He couldn't feel his fingers.

Slowly, Merlin lay back on the covers, still fully clothed. He slid off his shoes, because if the sheets were muddied, there would probably be more consequences. He didn't want to find out.

Merlin's back hurt. He tried not to move, tried not to blink as a painful bruise formed about his left eye. It would be worse in the morning. Merlin tried to count in his head, staring unblinkingly upwards until tears burned and his eyes stung. There was an impression of the window on the ceiling, white rectangles in a row. It looked like the piano.

Hours later, Morgana snuck into Merlin's room, climbing onto the empty side of the bed. Her nightgown made her look like an angel, white and luminescent.

"Oh, _Papa_," she said, tugging the covers back and crawling under them. Merlin turned to look at her, dark curls fanning out upon his pillow as she hugged him tight around the middle. Merlin remained silent as always.

Outside, a bird cried and cried.

:i:

Merlin didn't leave the house the next day.

:i:

"What happened?" Arthur demanded. The smile on his face vanished in an instant.

Merlin shook his head, his own smile slipping, and he stopped short. For a moment, it looked as if Arthur was going to touch reach out and brush over Merlin's temple. But then he hesitated at the wary look in Merlin's eyes, and his hands fell back to his side. His eyes lingered on the bruise around Merlin's left eye, dark purple and blue. Merlin swallowed nervously but kept walking, past Arthur and up the stone steps leading to the front door.

"_Mer_lin," said Arthur, voice stern, but Merlin kept walking. He slid through a doorway, through halls and corridors as familiar as his own home, opening doors until he reached the drawing room. The piano stood there, faithful as-

Arthur's hand closed around Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin flinched, twisting around.

"Whoa," said Arthur, eyes widening. He held up both palms. "Sorry."

The worry and concern barely hidden in Arthur's expression made Merlin's heart lurch. Guilt curled in his gut. It wasn't Arthur's fault. It was thanks to him that Merlin had his piano at all, had _music_ at all – and he couldn't take out his frustrations and fears on him. Arthur didn't belong in Merlin's life; he was full of colour, whereas Merlin was full of grey.

But Merlin could try to make Arthur happy.

Merlin took his seat in front of the piano, aware of Arthur's concerned gaze as the other man settled in an armchair next to the unlit fireplace. Merlin breathed an inward sigh of relief, grateful for the distance. No Bach. No Bach or Mozart, even though his fingers itched to play, mechanically, something with enough voices to drown out the rain or the pain still lingering on Merlin's back. But Arthur didn't like Bach – Merlin remembered the way he had frowned, face blank and serious as Merlin had played Fugue after Fugue. Arthur liked melodies that sang golden as his own hair in afternoon sun. Arthur liked jazz music, chords the scent of coffee, awkward from Merlin's fingertips. Fast showy things that made him laugh.

Arthur liked _Chopin._

No, it wouldn't do to worry him.

Instead, Merlin closed his eyes, letting the piano flow over him, the presence of Arthur warm and comforting.

"You know," said Arthur, and Merlin could tell he was trying to distract him, "silence is golden and all that. But honestly."

Merlin smiled. Music came.

/EMBED ELLIE's BADGE

Later, much later:

"Merlin. _Merlin."_

Merlin stopped playing and made a grab for the notebook. There were only a few pages left now.

_You'll never play properly this way, you prat._

"Don't care," Arthur whispered into Merlin's hairline, the exhale of warm breath making Merlin shiver. Lips travelled down the nape of Merlin's neck, a hand, fingers splayed across Merlin's hip. Merlin's left hand slipped from the keyboard, notes falling silent.

"Look," said Arthur, one hand coming up to cup the side of Merlin's face. There was so much tenderness in that one word it made Merlin lean closer. He wasn't sure when his eyes had closed, but he opened them obediently and all he could see was Arthur's face. His pale eyelashes and eyes, blue like a nocturne.

"Let me kiss you," he said.

:i:

Spring had truly arrived.

The green grew deeper, the winds warmer and the ocean spray heavy with salt along the shore. When Merlin arrived at the manor, Arthur was waiting on the steps, a light brown jacket thrown carelessly over one shoulder. Merlin dismounted, giving Arthur a suspicious look when he came over, eyes bright with something close to mischief.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"We're not going inside today," announced Arthur cheerfully. Merlin's suspicions grew. He tilted his head to one side, a universal question.

"Close your eyes," Arthur commanded, "I have a surprise for you."

Merlin glared, eyes stubbornly open as far as they would go. He tried to imitate Morgana's _You're Being So Stupid _stare, which never failed to make Merlin feel like an idiot. Arthur, on the other hand, only smiled wider.

"Come on," he said, waving a hand, "close them."

Merlin closed his eyes. Then there was a warm hand on his elbow and shoulder, pushing.

"This way," came Arthur's voice. "Don't peek now."

Gravel crunched under foot, then a brief patch of grass (Merlin could feel the softness under his shoes, the ground giving under each step), then back to gravel and stone. He poked the hand on his shoulder, questioning. Fingers tightened briefly.

"Nearly there," said Arthur, sounding far too pleased to be allowed. "Now _don't _peek."

Distantly, Merlin could smell coffee, rich and exotic amidst the scents of wet grass and leaves. Then the gravel disappeared as Arthur guided them off the path, onto grass once more. Merlin had no idea where they were going. He had never ventured out of the manor on his visits, too preoccupied with the piano to ever wonder what the rest of Arthur's home was like. This had better not be a prank of some sort. Merlin had better not get covered in mud.

Merlin tried to dig in his heels, but Arthur kept pushing, half lifting Merlin off the ground when he refused to take another step.

"Don't be an idiot, Merlin, just round here…you're not looking, are you? Don't look!" Merlin rolled his eyes, even though Arthur couldn't see the gesture, what with the eyes being _closed. _After a moment, they turned right and Arthur stopped. Merlin stumbled.

"You can open your eyes now."

Merlin opened his eyes.

He had to shut them again because the sunlight was too bright. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light and Merlin realised they were in the gardens behind the manor, out of sight from the house. There were tidy flowerbeds along the vine-covered walls that surrounded wide, circular alcove. Trees swayed by the west wall, and the open sky was _blue blue blue_ above the green_._

In front of Merlin, standing in the middle of the clearing, was his piano.

Merlin blinked, rapidly.

He stared some more, taking a few unsteady steps towards the instrument, its glossy surface reflecting the gold of sunshine. The outline of the notebook dug into Merlin's chest, where it sat in his pocket, but at that moment, Merlin didn't know what to say.

"So," said Arthur, a little awkwardly, when the silence stretched on.

Merlin was halfway between Arthur and the piano now. He turned around.

"I thought it was about time you ventured outdoors. So I brought the piano out here, to lure you out."

Merlin stared at Arthur, resisting the urge to smirk.

Arthur fidgeted at the lack of reaction.

"You're too bloody pale: lacking in vitamins. It's not healthy. You'll become an unattractive hermit."

Merlin walked back towards Arthur, snatched up a sleeve, and tugged him until he was by the piano. Then Merlin shoved him into the wicker chair, settling himself down on the piano seat. Arthur looked so astounded at being manhandled that he was actually silent for more than two seconds. Merlin took advantage of this to snatch a quick kiss, then opened the piano lid.

"Oh," Arthur said.

Merlin smiled so hard, his jaw ached.

/ EMBED HOWLS MOVING CASTLE THEME or KISSING IN THE RAIN

The piano sounded different in Arthur's rose garden. On the beach, it had been terribly desolate, melodies on a backdrop of grey and white. Here, the sound bounced a little off the stone walls, soaked by the trees and the grass. The notes just got lost to the sky as soon as they were played. Merlin put in a few extra running passages, just to watch the semiquavers evaporate into sky above. He laughed, laughed at the little grey cat on the garden wall who watched them between the ivy, laughed at the way he could feel the earth soaking into the keys and his fingers, like Debussy and water, Liszt and air, Arthur and _sunlight. _

When Merlin glanced up in the middle of playing and saw that Arthur was watching him with that intent look - a smile full of _warmth_ and something that made Merlin want to stop playing and kiss Arthur again - Merlin wondered if too much happiness could kill a man.

Merlin didn't know how much time passed before he paused for air, fingers warm and ears cold. He reached into his pocket and drew out the notebook – "What piece was _that_?" said Arthur, "It was the sappiest thing I've ever heard!" - and uncapped the fountain pen. He wrote two words, thrusting the page at Arthur.

_For You._

Then Merlin thought of something and gestured for the book back again. He added another word before capping the pen and putting it back into his pocket.

_Prat._

Arthur stared at the book, then at Merlin, expression surprised and open and -

Merlin smiled to himself and continued playing.

:i:

Love was like the speed of the seasons, relentless and overwhelming.

Merlin traced finger over the gold letters of the box, curious. Arthur sighed and lifted the lid without fanfare, putting it aside on top of a pile of such similar boxes; thin and square. Inside sat a vinyl disk, glossy black and grooved. There was a printed picture of a piano at the centre.

"Liszt, playing Liszt," said Arthur casually. He dropped another three boxes in front of Merlin. "Here's some more."

Merlin's eyes felt as if they would drop out of his skull as he looked up and around the library. There were a section dedicated to such boxes and slips, vinyl recordings in tidy, categorised rows. _Opera. Jazz. Classical. Piano. _Recordings were expensive, and Merlin had never really had the money to spend on such passions; he needed money to pay for Morgana's tutors, her dresses, and other such things. Keep up appearances.

"If you don't like that one, there's-"

But Merlin was already crossing the room to the gramophone, setting aside the needle and lifting the vinyl carefully from its case. He selected a track at random, then started the machine. Strands of music started at once, and Merlin stepped back – onto Arthur's toes.

"Merlin!"

Merlin rolled his eyes to say, _Well, if you want to stand in the way, then it's really your own fault that your toes got trodden on. Don't complain._ He was going to write that all down in the notebook (only one and a half pages left now,) but Arthur's proximity rendered him a little blank. The only thoughts going through his head were: _eyes, mouth, golden hair, minor seventh, oh those notes were a little too fast._

He side-stepped Arthur and busied himself browsing the titles in Arthur's library. The sheer _amount _made his eyes water with envy. He turned to Arthur, who was still standing by the gramophone. Merlin gestured with an arm at the hundreds of books and vinyl in the room with them.

"I collected," said Arthur, who was getting really very good at interpreting Merlin's gestures and anticipating questions and answers. Arthur moved towards the side table, pouring two glasses of some amber liquid from a crystal decanter.

"Most of the books and recordings are still back in London, of course. Couldn't bring them all with me."

_Why did you leave?_

Arthur took a gulp of his drink, handing a glass to Merlin. It smelt alcoholic and filled Merlin with sudden warmth when he took a sip.

"I had a rather…how do you put this..." Arthur twirled a hand in time with the music. "…a disagreement with my father."

At Merlin's confused expression, he added, "Politics, more or less. It got very ugly."

Merlin nodded sympathetically. Arthur drained his glass, refilling it straight away and talking all the while.

"So he decided it would be best for me to look after Pendragon's extensive estates and land, somewhere very far away, where I would have no influence. And here I am."

It seemed to Merlin that Arthur hadn't talked about any of this to anyone for a long, long time. There was a dry little twist to Arthur's mouth when he spoke of his father, something that made him look like a completely different person. It was a subtle change, from golden to subdued.

"I hope Morgause is giving him hell, back home," said Arthur, almost to himself. Merlin noticed that his glass was empty again. _Dutch courage._ Merlin's own glass was still half full, the amber casting patches of light on the shelves. He tilted his head in question.

"Half sister," explained Arthur, reaching for the decanter again. Merlin frowned, setting his own glass on a nearby table and confiscating the bottle. Arthur looked a little sheepish. Behind him, the music came to a stop, and the needle jumped, scratchy. As if taking advantage of the distraction, Arthur turned away from Merlin, lifting the needle and selecting a new track. _Dance of the Gnomes._

"God, this man," said Arthur, glancing at the portrait of Liszt on the album cover. "All flash and no substance. Such a show off."

Merlin snorted.

He raised both eyebrows at Arthur – _hark who's talking!_

"Stay for dinner tonight," said Arthur suddenly. He was only half facing Merlin, one hand still on the wooden box of the gramophone. He looked almost…nervous.

Merlin was about to nod when the thought of Valiant made him hesitate. The man hadn't asked any more questions about Merlin's whereabouts during the day. Morgana had made no sign that she wanted to be included in the daily trips…but. _Even so_. Merlin bit his bottom lip. Surely - he was a grown man; no one could tell him when or where he should be. It was ridiculous.

The memory of silhouettes, shouting, and rough hands made Merlin shake his head regretfully. His stomach twisted uncomfortably when Arthur's face fell. The expression was wiped away in an instant, however, and then Arthur was changing the vinyl disk.

Merlin reached for the notebook, wanting to explain that it wasn't because Merlin didn't _want _to stay. But then he thought about what Arthur's reaction might be - angry, disgusted, incredulous – and Merlin curled his fingers around his jacket sleeve instead.

:i:

That night, Valiant came home drunk.

"You know," he said, words frighteningly clear as he pushed Merlin into his room. His hands gripped Merlin's shoulders so tight, Merlin began to lose sensation in his fingers. It was dark, almost pitch, with only a sliver of moonlight through the crack in the curtains.

Merlin struggled.

"You know," said Valiant again, and his breath was sour with alcohol, too close, _too close._ But he weighed twice as much as Merlin, perhaps more, and easily pushed him against the wall next to the wardrobe. Merlin winced as his shoulder blades hit the hard wood.

"I coul' have loved you," said Valiant, voice like gravel. "I could have, you know, such a pretty thing like you." He released one of Merlin's arms to hold his jaw in a vice-like grip. Merlin tried to bring his knee upwards, stamp on Valiant's toes – _anything. _Valiant only chuckled, the sound grating against the silence like broken bone. He leant forwards so that his weight pinned Merlin's knees, rendering them useless.

Merlin's heart was beating so fast he felt it might burst from his chest.

Valiant squeezed the point just behind Merlin's jaw until Merlin was forced to open his mouth, or risk dislocation. The pain made Merlin's eyes water. He tried desperately to blink them away, _don't fucking cry, _but a tear escaped the corner of his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. Valiant didn't seem to notice.

"I could have loved you if only you had tits instead of fucking _balls._"

The fingers dug into skin, and Merlin felt his jaw pop.

Then suddenly, Valiant's tongue was in Merlin's mouth, the taste of his breath gagging and horrid, the kiss violating. Merlin tried to jerk his head away; he couldn't breathe, god, _he couldn't _- his free hand groped about for something, anything, but Valiant was still gripping his arm hard, and Merlin couldn't get free -

He jabbed his thumb into Valiant's left eye.

Abruptly, Valiant let go with a shout of pain, and Merlin staggered. Out of nowhere a fist collided with Merlin's jaw, and pain exploded on the side of his face. Another swing, wild and uncontrolled; Merlin reeled back just in time to avoid being hit again.

"You little _faggot."_ Valiant's words were slurring now - he was _so drunk._ He took a heavy step towards Merlin, who struck out in self-defence. Valiant's foot caught on something on the floor - Merlin couldn't see what it was; too dark, too dark - and went falling backwards with a loud _thud._

He didn't get back up.

For a moment, Merlin thought Valiant was dead. But then he saw the rise and fall of the man's chest in the shadows, steady. Unconscious. Just unconscious.

Merlin stumbled out of Valiant's bedroom, stopping one of the maids, who stared at him with wide eyes, at his dishevelled hair and rumpled clothing. Merlin gestured at the doorway, indicating the feet that were just visible around the open door. The maid nodded and rushed into the room, calling for Gwen.

Almost blindly, Merlin found his way back to his room.

He slammed open the bathroom door, knocking his shins painfully on the side of the metal tub, reaching for the taps. _Water_. He took it straight from tap, cold and freezing, trying to wash the taste from his mouth, from his face. Merlin's hands trembled, and it took him three attempts to turn the tap further, water gushing as he stripped off his clothes. He wanted to get out of them, out of the grip of unwelcome hands and the weight of an unwanted body against his own.

The water was so cold Merlin lost feeling in his limbs within seconds. When the bath was full of water, he turned off the tap, shivering. He didn't get out, but let the numbing sensation settle into his bones, until the ache in his chest was frozen, until he was too cold to feel anything.

Merlin drew his knees to his chest, wrapping both arms around his legs.

He stayed in the water until exhaustion overtook him. Then there was blissful oblivion.

:i:


	4. IV

**IV.**

"_**Silence is the most powerful scream."**_

- **Anonymous.**

"Master Emrys. You have to wake up, please. _Master Emrys_!"

Merlin slowly came to, senses focusing on the voice in front of him. It was Gwen.

What was Gwen doing? Merlin made to sit up, and the sudden sound of splashing water made him look down. He was in a bathtub full of water. Why was he in the bathtub? He looked back up at Gwen, his thoughts slow and still sleep-fogged. He was naked in a bathtub.

Merlin gestured for a towel, feeling as if his hand alone weighed a few hundred pounds. _Too heavy_. He could barely curl his fingers around the fabric when Gwen handed it to him, her face full of worry.

"You've been in here _all night_," she babbled, while Merlin stood up slowly on shaky legs. "Your lips are _blue, _oh my god, you need something warm to drink right this minute!" Merlin swayed unsteadily as all the blood left his head, making his vision swim. Gwen helped him out of the tub, draping another white towel around his shoulders and hurrying him into his room. It was a strange sensation, walking and not feeling the ground. Merlin sat on the bed, casting about for his clothes.

He was past shivering.

Gwen was opening and closing drawers, and she handed him a set of clothes, as well as a woollen shirt two sizes too big.

"Go on, put these on while I fetch you something to drink. What were you, I mean- it's not my place but you're going to catch a dreadful chill, and-"

Merlin tried to smile at her, tried to reassure Gwen that he was alright. He was fine, actually. But the expression made his jaw hurt, and he touched it tentatively with one hand.

"And something for the bruise," continued Gwen, going through the wardrobe for an extra quilt, "I'll be right back," she promised and darted out of the room, closing the door behind her. Merlin put on the clothes, fingers stumbling over the buttons. His skin was wrinkled from being in the water, and when he accidentally knocked into the sharp edge of the bedside table, he could only feel a vague bump on his hand, no pain at all. The wallpaper patterns were brighter today.

It was all rather surreal.

Merlin sneezed.

In no time at all, the door reopened and Gwen returned, this time with Morgana, who opened the door for her. Gwen was carrying a large silver tray, laden with something that steamed in a bowl. It smelt savory and hot and made Merlin's mouth water as she set the food down on the bedside table. Morgana came rushing to his side, throwing herself onto the bed.

"Papa!" she exclaimed, hands coming up to touch Merlin's cheek. She gasped. "You're so cold!"

Even gesturing was slower than usual, as if it were taking longer for his limbs to process what his brain wanted them to do.

_I'm fine. Did you sleep well?_

Morgana nodded, clambering up the bed next to Merlin. She leaned on his shoulder, hooking her arm through his. She felt warm by his side.

Gwen set out the cutlery on the tray, then lifted the small table until it was by Merlin's knee.

"Here. Eat all that, then stay in bed and rest. You'll catch pneumonia, otherwise."

Merlin nodded up at her, still encased in that strange bubble which separated him from his senses. Gwen smiled back, then backed out of the room again, worry sparkling in her kind brown eyes. A moment passed in silence after she had gone.

"It's chicken," offered Morgana, poking at Merlin's soup with a silver spoon. "I think it's leftovers."

Merlin took the bowl in two hands, feeling the heat of it in his palms. It was almost scalding hot, but he didn't put it back down, instead picking up the spoon and starting to eat. Every time he swallowed, Merlin could feel the hot soup travel down his throat and into his stomach.

"Gwen says you caught the flu," said Morgana, watching him eat. Her hair was plaited today, twisted in a complicated knot at the back of her head, intertwined with gold ribbon. Her dress was also new, with expensive lace around the collar and sleeves.

In moments, Merlin had finished the bowl of soup. He set it back on the platter.

_Maybe. Nothing too serious._

Morgana huffed and gave him a hug around the waist.

"Maybe you shouldn't go out so often," she said, and Merlin heard the edge in her voice. He didn't answer, instead pushing the small table back so he could stand. Morgana watched him with a calculating gaze.

"If you didn't go out so much, maybe Father wouldn't be so angry."

Merlin froze, stock still.

"I heard shouting," continued Morgana, and Merlin could feel her gaze on his back. He turned, giving her a tight smile.

_It's not that,_ he gestured, fingers and palms forming patterns.

"He doesn't like you visiting Mister Pendragon," said Morgana, looking at him steadily, and Merlin felt all the blood drain from his face at Arthur's name. He stared at her, shocked.

_What do you mean?_

"He hasn't found out. Yet. But he still doesn't like you leaving the house so often."

_There's nothing to find out. Morgana-_

"I'm not stupid!" Morgana burst out, eyes flashing. "I'm not a little child either. I know what you're - "

Merlin pressed a finger to his lips desperately, glancing towards the door.

Morgana gave him a disapproving sort of look, little lips curved downwards in a frown. Then her expression softened and she came forward to hug him again. Merlin didn't move, uncertainty thudding painfully in his chest.

"Just don't make Father angry, okay?" she asked. "I hate the shouting."

Merlin nodded, numb, and watched her go.

:i:

Love is a slow and sudden thing.

It sweeps you up like a wave and takes you to sea, where the water is deep and there is no hope of touching the bottom.

It is slow in the stillness of the cove, where the very air speaks of his absence, the unblemished sand marking where he should be standing next to you.

It is like a piano, of ivory keys and an impossible combination of sound, which without a pianist, _without him_, remains as silent as those without voice.

:i:

Merlin studied his reflection in the window while rain pattered softly outside.

There was an ugly bruise along his jaw, the blue and purple standing out against pale skin. Merlin traced the places where the bruises were most severe, where the fingers had dug hardest. The morning passed by slowly.

Merlin debated whether or not he should see Arthur. The rain was nothing, but he didn't want Arthur to see the bruises. It would lead to questions, and even though Arthur had let the matter go in the past, he would press for answers this time, Merlin was sure of it. And if Merlin told the truth-

He let his hand drop to his side.

Arthur could confront Valiant - he _would_. But Merlin didn't even want to speculate about Valiant's reaction, didn't want to find out what he would do if he discovered that Merlin had been visiting Arthur every day ever since he had arrived here. And even if Merlin _did _tell Arthur the truth, Valiant would be no doubt so angry at the deception that he would throw Merlin and Morgana out of the house. That wasn't an alternative at all; Morgana needed a home, somewhere familiar. She already saw Valiant as a second parent figure, even if the thought made Merlin feel a little nauseous.

Yet Valiant was good to Morgana - spoiled her, even.

No, Merlin mustn't be selfish.

The rain tapped out a tuneless melody on the windowpane, and it lulled him slowly to sleep.

:i:

That night, Arthur was woken by the sound of silence.

:i:

When Merlin woke again, it was dark in the room. Someone had closed the curtains, and he was in bed, the covers heavy and suffocating on top of his chest. His skin was covered in goose pimples and a layer of cold sweat, making him shiver. There was something uncomfortable lodged in his throat, in his nose, and Merlin found it difficult to breathe properly. Each breath wheezed painfully, and he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, coughing wetly.

A figure shifted in the chair next to his bed.

"About time," said Arthur.

Merlin jerked upright so fast he felt nauseous. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out Arthur's face, defined lines in the darkness. Merlin stared. Perhaps this was an illness-induced hallucination.

"You've been asleep for almost an entire day, according to Gwen," said Arthur, moving forward. It was a moment before Merlin realised he was offering a glass of water, and he took it with shaky hands. Not a hallucination then.

The liquid felt wonderful going down parched throat. Merlin almost choked, trying to gulp it down in one go. He felt Arthur's hand prising the cup away, the sinking of mattress as the man sat down next to him on the bed. A large, warm palm at his back rubbed comforting circles. Something was worrying at the back of Merlin's mind. Arthur. Arthur _here._

"Easy," said Arthur, "You have a fever."

Merlin gestured frantically.

"More water?" asked Arthur, confused. Merlin shook his head, and when Arthur still didn't get it, Merlin tried to slip out of bed, hands pushing at Arthur's shoulders.

"Wait. Look- _wait_," said Arthur, fumbling in his jacket pocket. He brought out an unfamiliar pad and pen, flipping to a clear page and pushing both objects into Merlin's hands. "Here."

Merlin could barely see anything past his nose, but he wrote down the message as clearly as he could.

_You can't be here._

Arthur took the pad.

"What?" he said, brows wrinkling. "I most definitely can."

Merlin thumped the bed covers with a frustrated fist before snatching back the pad and writing:

_You must leave before Valiant finds out you've been here. __Please._

Arthur's face darkened.

"Actually, I'm planning to stay right here until he returns," he said, reaching to brush a gentle hand against the bruise on Merlin's jaw, the soft touch at odds with the tone of his voice. Merlin flinched. "I need to ask him why he feels the need to beat his ward."

_You don't understand. It will be worse if he sees you here. You have to go __now._

"Merlin," started Arthur, but Merlin could feel panic welling up inside him. He couldn't lose Arthur as well.

_Please, Arthur._

"Only Gwen knows I'm here," said Arthur "I came because you didn't show up. I thought my dinner invitation must have scared you off for good, but I couldn't- Merlin, I couldn't stand _not knowing_. I had to see you."

Warmth blossomed in Merlin's chest at Arthur's words, but the panic didn't ebb.

_I'll explain later. You have to leave. _

Arthur shook his head, but Merlin fisted his hands in Arthur's shirt, forcing the man to look at him. Something of Merlin's terror must have shown on his face, because Arthur stilled. One hand came up to circle around Merlin's wrist.

"I can't just _-_" Arthur broke himself off, eyes searching, locked with Merlin's. His voice sounded as raw; an interrupted cadence. "That bastard can't be allowed to hurt you, I won't let him."

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. He knew nothing he could say would persuade Arthur to leave, so he wrote:

_I don't __want__ to see you. Leave now._

When Arthur didn't move, Merlin pushed against his chest, punched him, face turned away so Arthur wouldn't see the tears. There was deafening silence, like a scream.

After a long moment, Arthur finally, _finally_ stood. He bent down to brush a kiss on Merlin's temple, then stepped away, straightening his jacket. Merlin handed him the notepad and pen, and Arthur's hand lingered over his. Merlin could feel Arthur staring at his back for another minute before turning abruptly. Footsteps. Then the door opened, closed. He was gone.

Merlin sank back slowly onto his pillow and uncurled his fingers around the object Arthur had pressed into his hand just before he'd left. It was a single piano key.

It was a promise.

That night, fever made Merlin dream.

/EMBED THE HEART ASKS PLEASURE FIRST

:i:

Merlin's fever lasted three days before it broke.

Once, he thought he saw Valiant at the foot of his bed, face blank as he watched Merlin toss and turn in delirium.

Morgana brought in lavender flowers that filled the room with their scent, heavy and feminine.

Arthur didn't return.

:i:

"I don't get it," said Morgana.

"What do you mean?" asked Gwen, closing the story book.

"What if Snow White didn't want to live with the stupid prince?" asked Morgana, her eyebrows contracting in a frown. "I mean she just woke up. It wasn't like she was in a clear state of mind."

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"He's a prince," she said, as if that explained everything. Morgana shook her head, curls bouncing.

"But she's been living with the seven little men!" protested Morgana, "It's not like she hated it there, right? They took her in and treated her like family. It doesn't make sense that she would just abandon them to go live with a stranger that she doesn't even _know_ properly. A stranger who kissed her without permission, too."

"They're in love," said Gwen indulgently. "People can do strange things, when in love."

"You can't just do that," said Morgana, face solemn and eyes dark. "It doesn't make sense."

:i:

"You're not well enough to go riding," said Gwen, too worried to care about propriety.

Merlin waved her off, shrugging on a heavy jacket and hauling himself into the saddle. He fed the mare a piece of apple from his hand, and she nuzzled his palm affectionately. Merlin made a few complicated gestures, pointing at himself and at his watch, then mimed eating.

"You better be back before supper," said Gwen, and she smiled at last. Merlin smiled back, the fresh air already filling him with thoughts of Arthur and everything being alright once more. It was like hope.

Digging his heels into the mare's side, Merlin set off down the forest track at a trot. Soon he disappeared out of sight.

Morgana closed the curtains and stepped away from the window.

:i:

"Merlin," said Arthur, looking surprised at the figure in the doorway. Gaius quietly disappeared into the shadows. "You're here?"

It was a cold day; there was a gentle fire crackling in the hearth. Papers were strewn about one of the desks, and the library glowed with warmth. Arthur had glasses on. He looked as if he hadn't expected Merlin ever to set foot here again, and the thought made Merlin cross the room in three strides.

Arthur rose to meet him - then hands, warm and careful and _safe - _andMerlin found himself enveloped by the scent of coffee, polish, and _Arthur Arthur Arthur,_ his hands fisted in Arthur's shirt, Arthur's own running up and down Merlin's sides, one arm looped around Merlin's waist in a tight embrace. Arthur's face was buried in Merlin's hair, Merlin's nose in the crook of Arthur's neck, breathing him in like a perfect cadence.

EMBED /HURRICANE

"You're alright, you're alright," Arthur was murmuring over and over. "Idiot, _idiot, _the last few days you have no idea. _Merlin_."

Merlin clung on. He could feel the rhythm of Arthur's heart beneath his palm, anchoring him. He breathed out, slowly.

It was a long minute before they broke apart.

"I thought you didn't want to see me," said Arthur, tone light and only half joking. Merlin bit his lip in apology and shook his head, reaching up to trace the dark shadows under Arthur's eyes.

"God," Arthur bit out, as if unable to stop himself, "I was so wor- But you're safe now. You're safe now."

Merlin reached for his notebook, almost dropping the pen in the process. Arthur's eyes never left his face, even as he wrote.

_Forgive me?_

"There's nothing to forgive. Even though I did think, for a moment… but it doesn't matter now," said Arthur. His eyes lingered on the bruise still visible on Merlin's jaw. Merlin saw Arthur's own jaw tighten, and he tensed. He was relieved when Arthur didn't say anything and only led them over to two comfortable chairs next to the fire.

Merlin sneezed.

Arthur shot him a scandalized look.

"What the _hell _were you doing, out riding so soon after your illness?" he said, half shouting.

Merlin gave him a baleful look and rolled his eyes.

He scribbled a sentence down. _I thought you'd have kittens if I didn't see you for an entire week._

"I wouldn't-! That's just-!" spluttered Arthur. Merlin wondered if the comment was too much of a blow to Arthur's masculinity. He chewed on the tip of the pen, watching Arthur's reaction. It was all very endearing.

He tried to push Merlin into a chair by a side table holding the remnants of tea. Merlin dug his heels into the carpet, eyes straying toward the piano. Arthur snorted. Merlin was relieved to see the quirk at the edge of his mouth – a smile, almost.

"I missed the music," said Arthur. "The house was odd without it."

Merlin heard: _I missed you._

Later, when Merlin's fingers were sore from playing and the light was beginning to sink into late afternoon, when they had kissed by the French windows, lingering kisses that left Merlin dizzy, when Arthur had pulled them both into a soft armchair and they were sitting, side by side – he said,

"You know. You could stay here."

It took a moment for Merlin to process what Arthur had said. His nose was still buried in the nape of Arthur's neck, in the soft golden hair, lips touching skin. Arthur's arms were around him, warm and solid and _safe._ Chopin played on the gramophone in the background, soft and lovely, hazy like a dream. Merlin stared back into Arthur's face, tilting his own head to one side in question.

"With me," said Arthur, and one of his hands closed around Merlin's own, fingers drawing patterns on the smooth skin of the palm. "You would be safe here, you and Morgana both – "

But Merlin was pulling away, shaking his head and searching for his notebook. The pages were nearly all filled up now, heavy with ink and secrets and hope.

_No_, wrote Merlin.

"I won't let that brute-"

Merlin silenced Arthur with a finger to the lips, because Arthur had to _understand_. He had already come too close; last time had been too close. Merlin had heard the maids whispering hours after Arthur had departed. He had spent the next few days tense and sleepless, waiting for Valiant to find out, to deal out some terrible retribution against Merlin or his daughter. Then Arthur would be out of reach forever.

No.

_I can't. _

"Why?" persisted Arthur, leaning forward when Merlin averted his eyes. "You wouldn't have to worry about anything, here. He won't be able to touch you again."

Arthur raised a hand tentatively, the movement gentle for one such as he. The pad of the finger traced over the lingering colour of a bruise, and Merlin caught Arthur's wrist, pushing it away. There was a constriction in his chest, an ache that had been lodged there ever since he met Arthur. It made Merlin feel weak.

"This can't go on," he said, fingers tightening around Merlin's hands when Merlin tried to pull away once more. "I won't let this go on."

:i:

Despite everything, Merlin kept seeing Arthur.

He couldn't stop himself. And something in his mind told him it was because, somewhere, sometime, he had stopped caring. He loved the piano, he loved Morgana, but …it wasn't the same. Until now, until _Arthur_, Merlin had never known the exhilaration of being truly loved.

Everything else paled in comparison.

"I will be back in a few days," said Valiant. He was speaking to Morgana more than Merlin, so he didn't notice the sudden stillness of the hand, the sharp intake of breath.

Morgana, however, did.

"A few _days_?" she asked, glancing at Merlin. "Why?"

"Business, sweetheart," said Valiant, dropping a kiss to her forehead. "But I promise to bring something back for you."

Morgana huffed, but she smiled also.

"Fine."

Merlin said nothing.

:i:

"Papa, you _can't._"

Merlin was sick of that word.

"Are you going to see Mister Pendragon again?" asked Morgana, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. When Merlin did not answer, she said, "Papa? Are you?"

Merlin tightened the horse's stirrups, wrapping the leather reins around one hand. The mare whickered softly, nuzzling his pockets for carrots and sugar. Merlin patted her nose fondly.

"You are!" accused Morgana, eyebrows furrowed in a frown. "Daddy will be cross!"

_He's not here._

"He might find out!" said Morgana, throwing up her hands. Merlin wondered when she had grown so much.

_He won't._

Morgana did not answer.

:i:

"You're here early," said Arthur, laughing as Merlin nearly fell from his horse in his eagerness to get into the house. He steadied the mare with one hand, helping Merlin off the saddle with the other.

"I swear," said Arthur, amusement flickering through his blue eyes, "how many months? And you still can't ride properly."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

Arthur handed the reins of Merlin's horse over to a young boy who appeared at his elbow. He slung an arm around Merlin's shoulders.

"Come, I've got something to show you," he said, leading them into the house. Merlin raised an eyebrow.

_Really._

Arthur only shot him a smug look and walked on. They passed through now familiar corridors, up a flight of carpeted stairs and through a small dusty room, which led into another corridor. The lights flickered on with a disused crackle when Arthur flicked the switch, and Merlin had never seen so many light bulbs in one place.

Arthur opened a plain wooden door at end of the corridor, and Merlin stepped through.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Merlin realized the space was larger than it had first seemed. Octagonal in shape, the room was covered on one side in long, ceiling to floor drapes. There was a large, polished wooden display case on the west side of the room, and on closer inspection, he saw all sorts of things on the shelves, arranged haphazardly. Picture frames, glass bottles, china plates with pale blue patterns. There were half-open boxes on the floor as well, full of books and dark folded cloth. Merlin thought he saw a brown, worn bear in one of the boxes, half buried. The room was a treasure chest.

Behind him, Arthur was pulling a dark, rectangular case from behind a dusty vanity. With a tug, Merlin pulled the bear free, and it stared at him with dark button eyes, fur soft with wear and love. Something warm swelled up in Merlin's chest.

EMBED/ SCENT OF LOVE

Crossing over to the windows, Merlin curled his fingers in the gap of the curtains and _pulled_. Sunlight streamed into the room, transforming the glass on the shelves into glittering panels, bouncing off the crystal ware and plates. It made Arthur's hair glow.

"Here," said Arthur, squinting a little in the sunlight, "hadn't had a chance to fetch it." He blew on the case, laying it out on a blank piece of floor.

Merlin came closer, and Arthur drew up two chairs, which looked as if they had never been used. Merlin sneezed again, and decided to kneel down next to the case instead. When Arthur turned to look at him, his eyes fell to the bear clutched in Merlin's hands.

Merlin's smile widened at the blush on Arthur's cheeks.

"Where did you find him?" asked Arthur gruffly.

Merlin pointed to the box at the end of the row.

"Well. You can put him back."

Merlin pretended to think, a thoughtful expression on his face, before he shook his head and tucked the bear beneath one arm. He pulled out the notebook with his other hand.

_But he is lovely. Was he yours?_

Arthur glared at the bear.

"No."

Merlin pushed the bear into Arthur's face and pulled the case towards him. Arthur spluttered, muffled by fur and fabric. Merlin ran a hand down the length of the case, the hard leather cracked at the edges. The silver buckles had rusted, and it was with some difficulty that he popped open the catch, lifting the lid of the case with a _creak_.

When he pulled aside the velvet cloth, Merlin's breath caught in his throat.

It was a violin.

Merlin glanced up at Arthur, seeking permission. Arthur shrugged.

"I thought you might like it," he said casually.

Merlin lifted the instrument from its cradle. Unlike everything else in the room, the violin's body was polished and free from grime. A slender neck and a whole-piece back - Merlin recognized it as a ladies' violin, and the grooves worn into the fingerboard told him it was an instrument that had been loved, once. The strings still sat tight upon the bridge, out of tune and beautiful.

Merlin set it down in his lap, undoing the braided latch which held in place the two bows, whose hairs were loose with age. Rosin stuck to Merlin's fingertips, the smell reminding him of the home he used to have in London. He stopped, staring at his own hands.

The strings were out of tune, pegs stiff with disuse, and Merlin was scared of breaking the strings. He had never played a violin before, but he had seen enough people do so to mimic the position. He propped the instrument under his chin, hand twisting a little awkwardly to hold the neck of the violin. Arthur took the bow from him, tightened it, and handed it back.

"I should have known you could play it," said Arthur, a hint of a smile on his lips. He looked pleased with himself, happy. Merlin blushed and shook his head.

Hesitantly, he placed the bow on the string, curling his fingers around the base of the bow as he had seen once, up close in a painting. The bow wobbled. Merlin pulled it down, careful only to touch one string.

What was meant to be an A came out as a croaky note, flat and rather sulky. Merlin winced, lowering the violin.

"No," said Arthur, chuckling, "Keep going. You need more weight in your arm, I think. Don't be afraid."

Doubtful, Merlin raised the instrument once more, trying to balance it under his chin whilst his left hand reached for the pegs. He twisted experimentally – and to his astonishment, the string did not snap or explode but made a strange, twanging sound that slid upwards from a doubtful F to C. The peg wanted to go back in the other direction, and Merlin twisted again, until it grudgingly went up to A.

He tried again. The violin gave a long, sour note, clearly not happy with being played by Merlin at all. The piano and violin didn't get along that well, not yet, anyway. Merlin ran a finger along the '_f_'s beside the bridge, the gold trimming along the tailpiece.

Perhaps he could learn, thought Merlin, excitement bubbling up inside him.

"It was my mother's," said Arthur.

Merlin looked up from the violin. The question must have been evident in his expression, because Arthur went on, tone indiscernible.

"She died when I was very young. That's -" he gestured at the violin "- it was her's. My father had all the photographs and paintings burnt before her funeral. All her dresses, everything she owned. But this I managed to salvage."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I think she wouldn't have- she would have wanted me to keep it safe for her," said Arthur, the raw edge to his voice making Merlin ache in his heart. He did not know what had prompted this, what had made Arthur open the door and let Merlin into this dusty room full of childhood and grief.

"I used to play, my mother, she taught-" said Arthur, stopping and starting like impromptus, unfinished. His eyes were fixed on the instrument in Merlin's hands. "But I haven't for…for a very long time."

He looked up, and their eyes locked, seeking each other on instinct, like the progression of a cadence coming home. Merlin stayed very still. Arthur still had the bear in his hands, and he put it down beside them, leaning, reaching slowly forwards until the two of them were so close that all Merlin could hear were their breaths, just the two of them, bracketed in the shaft of warm sunlight through the curtains.

Merlin placed a hand over Arthur's heart just to feel it beat underneath his palms. Arthur's breathing stuttered.

"I never noticed the silence until I met you."

Merlin wished for a voice.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say _I never noticed it either, _to say _Arthur, _to listen to what it would sound like, his love formed into words, the shape of them – Merlin wondered how it would taste on his tongue: sweet or bitter or both? But then Arthur's arm was pulling him closer by the waist, one hand cupping the back of Merlin's neck. He kissed, pressing softly on Merlin's mouth, his own opening in an exhale of breath, and Merlin wound his hands through Arthur's golden hair, _closerclosercloser._

Arthur's kisses reminded Merlin of Brahms, a lullaby, something sung, at once desperate and gentle. He bit down on the corner of Arthur's jaw line just to hear him groan, arms tightening around Merlin's body in retaliation. Breathing was secondary. Merlin had to pull back, pushing with both hands just to gasp a breath before Arthur dove back in, tilting their bodies so Merlin was leaning back, throat bared in a pale arch.

"Merlin," Arthur was saying, "you make me - _gods - _"

The sunlight bathed Arthur in gold, face aglow, and Merlin drank in his words, feeling hot inside his throat, almost too painful to bear. He could feel the muscles of Arthur's back through his thin jacket, taut beneath Merlin's hands, and Merlin smiled into another kiss, the scent of Arthur's hair filling him like semiquavers, sending shivers up and down his spine.

He jerked when Arthur's hands, calloused and smooth all at once, touched his bare skin, sliding beneath his shirt and jacket and pushing up. Merlin's own hands fisted in Arthur's hair, and he gasped out loud, their breaths as one, Arthur staring into his face with something darker in his eyes.

"Too many clothes," he said, wrenching Merlin's jacket off roughly, and then Merlin was unbuttoning Arthur's shirt, fingers deft. He got distracted when Arthur's collar fell open, revealing smooth skin and collarbone, and Merlin sucked a kiss there, nose in the dip of Arthur's neck. Arthur's hands were running up and down the expanse of Merlin's back, now jacket-less, warm palms dipping past hips.

"Not here," Arthur managed to say, each word punctuated by a hasty kiss. "Bedroom."

He pulled Merlin bodily upwards, not letting go, and Merlin laughed. They managed to make it out of the room, wrestling with door handles and knocking into side tables as Arthur hauled them into another room, their progress significantly hindered by hands and kisses and Arthur saying:

"You've got the _bear?_ Jesus, Merlin!" And then Merlin dropped the teddy bear as Arthur pushed him onto the bed covers, kissing a hot trail down Merlin's neck.

At some point, Merlin flipped them over, hooking one leg between Arthur's and unbalancing him. Arthur looked a little surprised, splayed out on the bed, shirt somewhere on the floor along with Merlin's own. The laughter on his face made Merlin kiss him again, then again, steadied by Arthur's hands on his hips, and Arthur said, amused,

"Is the piano playing?" He cocked his head to one side, listening to the notes flowing through the door, left ajar. "It is!"

Merlin shrugged, too occupied with the topography of Arthur's chest to be bothered with the piano at the moment. Arthur pulled him up to eye level and kissed him deeply, tongue swiping across Merlin's teeth.

"Do I inspire you, then?" he asked, definitely sounding amused now, fingers undoing the fastening of Merlin trousers. Merlin scowled at the interruption.

_You Prat._

Arthur laughed, a burst of sound that Merlin could feel rumbling through his own skin, and he smiled. The notes of the piano swirled about them, following the tempo of Merlin's heartbeat. The sense of touch, intimate, the hot slick heat of it all - there was nothing else, _nothing._

The world was the sound of Arthur, saying _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin_ and the piano answering in kind.

**:i:**

"_**And we'll recall, when time runs out,**_

_**That it only took a moment to be loved."**_

**:i:**

Gwen found Morgana outside on the veranda, near nightfall.

"Sweetie," she said from the threshold. "Dinner."

Morgana turned, her profile shadowed by the light spilling from the doorway. Gwen couldn't see her expression properly, but the eyes reflected the light. It made her look eerie.

"Papa's not home."

"I'm sure he's alright," said Gwen, hands clasped together in worry. She peered out into the darkness, the trees blocking the path from sight with their long-hanging shadows. Merlin had always returned before dark.

"He isn't," said Morgana and jumped off the veranda. She stalked past Gwen, face unreadable, and Gwen felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool night breeze.

**:i:**

Arthur woke without realizing.

Dreams bled into reality like slowly seeping ink, staining the sheets and leaving marks on bare skin.

There was the warmth of sunlight on the back of his neck and the heat of another body pressed up against his own. His arm was rising and falling with the other's steady breaths as it lay draped across chest, ribs, back. Arthur cracked open his eyes slowly, blinking to clear away the haze of sleep.

The first thing he saw was the shell of Merlin's ear. He slept with his face angled towards Arthur, one hand curled up so it rested in a loose fist on Arthur's chest. Merlin looked peaceful in sleep – the constant tension gone, smoothed out around the eyes. Arthur had never seen him this relaxed while awake, aside from the times that Merlin laughed. There was something terribly vulnerable in the arch of his eyebrows and the fan of dark lashes on pale skin. His mouth, still kissed red from the night before, was parted slightly. Arthur listened to the little puffs of breath for a long time, counting them and trying to match his own breathing. The shaft of sunlight fell across Merlin's face, golden, and Arthur reached out to brush the skin there. He cupped Merlin's face and leaned over to brush a kiss on his lips, chaste.

Merlin stirred and smiled in his sleep.

Arthur kissed him again, and Merlin made a small noise of content, turning onto his side until his face was buried in the crook of Arthur's neck. Arthur let his arm fall farther, bringing one palm up to caress the dip in Merlin's back, drawing lazy patterns there like a memory.

When he next looked back up to Merlin's face, it was to find two blue eyes staring back at him, still unfocused and half asleep.

"Hey," said Arthur quietly, smiling. He leaned in for another kiss.

Merlin kissed back, slow and languid, fingers unfurling to press against Arthur's skin – warm. Then he froze. Arthur felt his entire body go stiff beneath his hands, and he pulled back slightly, bewildered. Merlin was staring over Arthur's shoulder at the window.

"What's-"

And then Merlin was pushing away, sitting upright and scrabbling for his clothes. His face was scrunched up in panic, colour draining from previously flushed cheeks. Arthur sat up also. Merlin was pulling on his trousers, and Arthur saw that his fingers were shaking at the laces.

"Merlin - calm down. Hey - " Arthur reached out to put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, and the latter reluctantly allowed himself to be turned around.

"Valiant's not back until tomorrow, remember?" said Arthur, voice low and soothing. "Calm down." He slid his hand along Merlin's shoulder, still sleep-warm, to cup the back of his neck. Merlin blinked at him, hands stilling in his lap. No words. Arthur summoned up his courage.

When he spoke, he hated the uncertainty in his own voice.

"Won't you stay?"

Merlin's squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. Arthur could see the outline of Merlin's ribs as he breathed in and out shallowly and fast, like a bird caught in a trap. Finally, he looked up. They stared at each other for a long minute, before Merlin shook his head jerkily and went to pull on his shirt. Arthur sighed and drew his hand back, feeling sick to the stomach.

The golden euphoria that had filled him upon waking was slowly fading from Arthur's chest, cooled by reality and Merlin's scared expression. He began pulling on his own clothes in silence. Merlin swung his legs from the bed with a wince, and Arthur watched as he padded over to the chair to pick up his jacket. It had been tossed there en route to the bed last night, whilst Merlin had been busy sucking a bruise on Arthur's jaw. Merlin shook out the coat and pulled his arms through it, movements careful and deft like everything about him. His worn-out shoes were on opposite sides of the room, and he retrieved them, all the while keeping his eyes averted from the bed.

_You shalt not covet._

Had Arthur been swept away by music and naïve passion like the kind of sentimental fool he had always despised? He dug his fingernails into his palm and struggled to keep a blank expression as Merlin pulled out the notebook Arthur had given him and set it down at the foot of the bed. This was _reality_, for heaven's sake! Merlin had never been _his_! Solitude had worn down his barriers. Arthur would have never made such a mistake in London, where emotion had been only something to be exploited, to be used in intrigue and politics. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Merlin had walked through all that, straight into Arthur's heart. And now -

Merlin paused on the threshold, eyes flickering to Arthur's face, then darting away, then back again. He offered a faint smile. Arthur didn't smile back.

- now, he was walking out again.

:i:

Arthur breakfasted a little later than usual, but everything else he kept the same. He spread strawberry preserves on thinly sliced toast; Earl Grey steamed gently by his elbow. He was interrupted by Gaius, who hesitated at the door of the morning room. Arthur saw his eyes dart around the room, taking in Arthur's solitude.

"Has Master Emrys left already?" he asked.

"Yes," said Arthur curtly, slicing the crust from his bread. He didn't like crusts.

Gaius was studying him with those eyebrows of his. Arthur could feel the disapproval of them burning into the top of his head, but he continued eating as if oblivious. Gaius shuffled farther into the room, placing a silver tray laden with letters and envelopes on the edge of Arthur's table. Arthur paused, one particular letter catching his eye.

Putting down his knife, he plucked the cream envelope from the top of the pile.

"This is from London," said Arthur, examining the stamp in the corner, flipping the envelope over.

Then he froze. Arthur had not seen this handwriting in three years, but it was seared into his memory, familiar as his own. He ripped open the envelope.

"Your father wants you to return to England," said Gaius.

:i:


	5. V

**V.**

"_**It takes silence to make sound. It takes lost before you're found."**_

– Life is Wonderful, by Mraz.

:i:

Merlin asked Gwen for a sheaf of paper and shut himself in his room.

He dreamed of Arthur's hands on his skin; he dreamed of his voice saying nonsensical things. He dreamed of him, pressed so close - it was not close enough. He woke to Arthur's absence, cold in the smoothness of Merlin's sheets.

Music looked strange and flat on paper. Merlin never used to write anything down, had never had the cause to – he'd always had his piano. But the thought of going back to Arthur, and knowing it wasn't - that he would have to -

His hands shook, making the tail of the quaver streak across the register. Numb, he barely managed to finish the piece before putting down the pen, its polished metal surface stained with inky fingerprints. There was a pile of messy manuscript at his elbow; a day's work. Merlin stared at the black notes without seeing them: love notes for Arthur, stray snippets of music falling over the table edge like discarded scraps.

For the first time in his life, Merlin hated the silence.

/EMBED /UNTIL I MET YOU

:i:

The next day, he took the mare and rode at a gallop all the way to the manor.

"I'm sorry," said Gaius, "Master Pendragon is not here at the moment."

Merlin stared at the butler, the sheaf of music in his hands crinkling with the pressure of his fingers.

"Perhaps you'd like to wait for him?" asked Gaius gently.

Merlin tucked the music back into his pocket. He shook his head, glanced around the now familiar hallway, and walked back down the steps, back to his mare, back back _backbackbackback _-

:i:

Morgana shifted restlessly atop a chair, trying to turn around. Gwen made an reproving gesture as she pinned the wire angel wings to the back of Morgana's bodice. They were covered with thin, translucent lace, two symmetrical arches from between the shoulder blades.

"I shall listen hard to rehearsal, because I live too far away to go often," signed Morgana with her hands.

Another maid, whom Morgana was forced to call "Aunt Morag," tutted as she fastened the bodice from the front. Gwen frowned.

"Which sign is the word rehearsal?" asked Aunt Morag suspiciously.

Morgana made the same gesture again.

Aunt Morag huffed.

"I can't imagine a fate worse than being dumb. Turn around."

"To be deaf?" said Gwen.

"Oh yes, that too – terrible! Awful!"

"Actually, to tell you the truth, Papa says most people speak rubbish and it's not worth the listen," said Morgana, watching Aunt Morag's reaction carefully. Aunt Morag exchanged a look with Gwen, who said nothing.

"Well," said Aunt Morag after a moment of silence. She sounded rather stiff. "That's a strong opinion.

"Yes," said Morgana, "it's unholy."

When Gwen gave her a startled look, Morgana stared right back.

:i:

The day after Valiant returned from Nelson was the day five men arrived with the piano.

Merlin's mind blanked out.

"From Pendragon, sir," said one of the men. He set the edge of the piano none too gently on the floor and mopped his brow. Another man, burly with a face full of beard, was plonking random notes on the keyboard, fist colliding with the black and white keys with childish glee.

Merlin clenched his jaw.

"Well, he isn't going to get money if he means me to pay for it," said Valiant, eyeing the piano suspiciously, arms crossed in front of him.

"No sir," said the man. He stuffed his handkerchief and picked up the corner of the piano again with a huff. "Says it's a gift for your ward."

At this, Valiant snapped around, and Merlin wasn't quite fast enough to draw back into his room. He froze, hand still curled around the edge of the door frame, clothes rumpled and unwashed from sleepless nights.

"I have a right mind to chuck it out," said Valiant with evident relish in his voice at Merlin's horrified expression. Merlin moved from the shadow of his doorway, gesturing -

_Please._

Valiant raised his eyebrows condescendingly, and Merlin went for the notebook – only realizing suddenly that it had no pages left, and he had left it at Arthur's. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, heart thudding with sudden desperation.

Why had Arthur given the piano back?

"Bring it into the living room then," said Valiant, unexpectedly, and Merlin's head snapped up. The living room? He stared blankly as the men grunted and shoved and moved passed him in the narrow corridor. The corners of the piano knocked into the doorframes as they maneuvered it sideways, and there was much cursing and banging of notes. Merlin felt like a sleep walker as he followed them into the living room. The piano was pushed into position, facing the wall, side to the doorway. It looked strange in Valiant's house, as out of place as Merlin was.

_We don't belong here_, thought Merlin. There was no music here.

Then -

_Why didn't Arthur want him anymore?_

He barely noticed the men taking their leave, sweaty and laughing and loud. Their voices disappeared down the hallway, and then there was the slamming of the front door. Merlin stood, half way to the piano and half way to nowhere, trapped between something he used to know and Valiant.

There was a long, tense moment of silence.

"Well?" said Valiant in a low, dangerous tone, "Aren't you going to play something?"

Merlin clenched his hands into fists to stop them shaking. _Why didn't Arthur want him anymore? _He glanced from the piano to Valiant. The man's face was unreadable, eyes shrewd and masked. Merlin shook his head, the movement jerky but enough to be noticed.

"Play me something," said Valiant, still in that calm voice, and Merlin didn't know what to do. Did Valiant know? Did he suspect? Merlin took a hesitant step towards the piano, then stopped, unable to move any further. He was used to anger; anger was plain in the language of fists and ugly words. But he didn't know what this was.

"Go on."

Merlin sat down at the piano. Smoothing one hand over the lid, he opened it. The lines between the keys blurred as he stared at them, and his hands came up to rest at middle C, perfect triads, mechanical, curved fingers. Arthur curved his fingers like this too, too rigid, too perfect – he was too perfect. Something shifted in his peripheral vision and suddenly Valiant was by the piano, standing much the way Arthur often did. Merlin stared where the unfamiliar hand rested, too rough against the polished wood of the piano. It shouldn't be touching the piano like that.

Valiant slammed his fist down, making Merlin flinch.

"I said _play_!" he shouted.

Merlin shut his eyes, stifling a dry sob.

His fingers refused to move, curved into little claws, blood frozen in fear. The hand lifted from the piano lid, fist forming once more, and Merlin jerked. Stop-starting like a mannequin, he forced the first finger down – _B –_ and then the stuttering sound of Bach flickered to life, running on memory like a well-played music box. The right hand tripped over the semiquavers, too fast, too fast - Merlin couldn't hear himself think beyond the three voices clamoring for attention. A fugue, it filled the room with sudden noise, and Merlin just had time to think _this isn't music _before Valiant slammed the lid down suddenly, the heavy wood falling shut on Merlin's fingers.

Merlin cried out – mouth opening in a silent "O."

"Good Lord that was _horrendous_!" said Valiant. "You call that music? Are you deaf?" He leaned on his hand, causing his weight to push the edge of the keyboard lid harder on Merlin's fingers. Merlin tried to wrench them away, gritting his teeth at the pain of it, _gods it hurt. _But then Valiant stepped away, face smoothing back to contempt, anger vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. Merlin pushed the lid back up, trying to blink the tears away. His knuckles throbbed, fingers stiff with pain. Already a tidy line of bruises was forming across his knuckles, and Merlin tried curling his fingers in – only to stop when it hurt too much.

"Something else," said Valiant.

Merlin looked up, hands clutched close to his chest. _Something else?_

"Play me a waltz."

Merlin continued to stare at him, uncomprehending. Valiant's behaviour was throwing him off completely, and the usual flow of impromptus was frozen, Merlin's mind a blank. Music. Valiant wanted music.

Merlin put his fingers back onto the keys, curling them slowly. The pain was fast becoming dull throbbing, as most bruises do, and Merlin flexed his fingers carefully, aware of Valiant's presence just behind his back. A waltz. _Something happy, _Arthur had said, _daysweeksmonths_ ago. What had Merlin played then?

He took a shaky breath, and began playing. The notes tinkled from his fingers, light and shapeless, a pointless melody that wound its way around Merlin's shoulders and trailed across the room like cream satin. It blended into the furniture and the shadows, a patterned base which meant Merlin didn't have to do any fast finger work – it still hurt. It wasn't Chopin. But it was close enough.

Merlin didn't know what to think anymore.

"You've been throwing a fit about this stupid piano," said Valiant, "So - _keep going! - _so now that you've got it, you'll play. Understand?"

Merlin didn't. The tune twisted in circles, going around the same thought over and over and over. _Why didn't Arthur - ?_

"You'll keep playing until I say you can stop," said Valiant.

Footsteps. A door slamming shut.

Merlin played on.

:i:

"Well," said Morgana, neatly pressed in her dress and shoes, ribbons and a book tucked under one arm. Merlin didn't look at her, fingers moving over the keys. She spoke over the sound of the piano, words dropping from the strings and the sound board, the metal knots and the hammers lifting, hitting, lifting, hitting. Merlin's back hurt from being hunched over the piano.

"At least now you won't have to see Mr. Pendragon every day."

She leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to Merlin's cheek, brief.

Merlin's eyes never wavered.

"Gwen gave me this book, before," continued Morgana, drawing up a chair and sitting down beside Merlin, "But I think it's all very silly. I'm too old for this kind of stories. Right, Papa?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin read _Tales _in gold print. The book was hard backed, full of expensive looking paper, thick and creamy. Waste of words. He nodded, hands still moving, keys still pressing, lifting, hitting because that was all there was: a mechanical construction of sound.

Arthur had taken his music away.

:i:

"The earliest ship sets sail in a fortnight," said Arthur, throwing down his jacket. He tossed his Father's letter on his desk, the edges of the paper already frayed from reading and re-reading. Gaius was setting out the table for a solitary meal, the silver cutlery reflecting the firelight and candles. "Even the fastest passage will take at least three weeks. Plenty time for Morgause to seize control of the will. Jesus."

He sat down in the high-backed chair with a sigh, rubbing tired eyes. His reflection watched him solemnly from the darkened windows.

"I have a right mind to let her. What use do I have for my father's company?"

"I think your father always meant for you to inherit," said Gaius in the slow, steady way of his.

Wine poured red from a crystal decanter. Arthur threw it back in one gulp, feeling the bitter warmth of it all the way down his throat. The gramophone sat silent, Liszt still sitting atop its case. The vinyl would gather dust, and it would have to be cleaned.

"Any word about the piano?" he asked, eyes carefully directed elsewhere.

There was a pause.

"Your men said it was accepted. Nothing more."

Arthur drained his glass and reached to pour another.

"Ah," he said, letting the wine force down the stab of disappointment, sharp and aching. _It was just the piano, then._

"That's for the best. Don't you think?"

Arthur watched the wine stain the glass in his hands. There was no reply. When he looked up, the room was empty.

:i:

Merlin played for two days without stopping. He played anything and everything, letting sound spill, mixed and dirty like rainwater. He played Beethoven and nocturnes, the love songs, he played the Liszt too fast and Chopin too slow, the notes sinking through his feet and into his skin like an unwanted caress, until his neck hurt and the muscles of his arms and hands seized with pain.

There was a note missing at the very top of the keyboard, and Merlin flitted around it worriedly as he played, wondering where it had gone. Then he remembered the broken key and hammers from weeks at sea. Arthur had taken it out, all those months ago, taken it and laid out the key's innards like a surgeon. String, hammer, felt: everything that Merlin was and is, exposed and examined.

It was three pieces later that Merlin remembered the carefully wrapped key, hidden away in the drawer by his bed.

Valiant watched him from the doorway sometimes. But he never said to stop, and Merlin didn't.

Gwen and Aunt Morag watched, too, Morgana talking all the while.

"One night, he was found in his night things, on the road to London," said Morgana. "Grandma said his feet were cut and bleeding so bad he couldn't walk for a week."

When Valiant was away, Gwen gave him soup and water.

Merlin played for two days before exhaustion finally overwhelmed him and he passed out at the piano.

:i:

His hands woke him.

Merlin curled and uncurled them from fists, trying to make the cramping pain disappear. The nonstop movements, repetitive, had taken their toll, and he turned over on his bed, scrunching his eyes shut. _Bed._

Merlin sat bolt upright as the events of the last few days came rushing back. The sun was streaming through the half-closed curtains, indicating early morning or midday. He must have slept the night through. Glancing down at himself, Merlin saw that he was still wearing the clothes he had had on for the last few days, the back of the shirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably, the trousers stained. He felt slightly dizzy.

There was nothing but the silence of the grandfather clock, ticking out in the hallway like a metronome. Merlin flexed his fingers gingerly once more, wincing, then got out of bed. He didn't have time to get changed. Spying his shoes at the foot of his bed, he slipped into them quickly. Standing slowly, he moved slipped quietly from his room, glancing down the deserted hallway. He wondered where Morgana was.

With Gwen.

He was already out the door and halfway to the stable when Merlin realised he had forgotten to take his jacket. The air was cool, the sky littered with clouds. Merlin bit his lip but didn't go back inside. There was something burning inside his chest, an ache, a hum, something like anger but not quite. It spurred him onward to seek out the familiar face of his mare. She whickered at the sight of him, butting his shoulder with her soft nose for carrots that he didn't have. Merlin patted her flank in apology, throwing a saddle across her back without a blanket. In his haste, he almost tripped over a stray end of rope on the dusty ground, but he caught himself just in time.

Fastening the horse's girth and manoeuvring the buckles proved more difficult, as Merlin's fingers slipped when he tried to pull the girth up. Pain shot up his arms, and he noticed the black-blue line of bruises across his fingers, a tidy line. He had almost forgotten.

Eventually, he managed to saddle and bridle his horse, and he clambered onto her back.

She knew where to go: Arthur's house was Merlin's only destination, and the mare began trotting at slight nudge from Merlin's heels. The wind ran through his hair like fingers, and Merlin thought he could hear the sea roar in the distance as they rode off into the woods.

The gates were open when they arrived. Merlin wondered if Arthur was expecting him, if he was entertaining guests. Lords and ladies who would sit in the morning room where Arthur and Merlin sat, drinking tea Arthur didn't and talking about things that didn't need to be said. People were like that, Merlin thought; he remembered it from London. His own mind was as blank as a page without notes, barely tethered. Merlin thought he was going to go mad from it.

He dismounted, leaving his mare by the fountain, and half-ran up the wide front steps. He banged with the dragon-headed door knocker. The sound was dull and did not echo. Merlin waited.

Five minutes passed before he heard the scrape of a lock being turned, chains being unlatched, and Merlin ran a hand over his face. The burning ache inside his chest was trying to force itself out through his throat. Finally, the door opened slowly to reveal Gaius. The old man looked surprised to see Merlin standing there; his eyebrows shot into his hairline.

"…Master Emrys?"

Merlin nodded. The hallway was dark beyond Gaius' shoulder. The butler looked Merlin up and down before finally stepping back to allow him to slip into the house. The door closed with a soft _click _and Merlin blinked in the sudden dimness.

"Master Pendragon is…seeing to business," said Gaius hesitantly, leading Merlin along the familiar hallway. As Merlin's eyes adjusted to the relative gloom, he spotted a blue coat hanging by the door. Its sleeves were edged in gold, its buttons polished and brassy. They walked through the foyer and up a large staircase, where Gaius led Merlin into a room he had never entered before. He had just enough time to take in a gold plaque on the door, inscribed with Arthur's crest, before Gaius opened it, revealing a spacious study.

"I shall go inform him that you're here," said Gaius kindly, and Merlin nodded once more. Gaius smiled at him reassuringly before closing the door.

Merlin was left alone.

Arthur's study was a strange place. It smelt of wood and books, that strange indecipherable scent of ink-stained fabric. There were large wooden shelves all along one wall, filled top to bottom with leather bound volumes and embossed titles. There was a large framed, picture on the wall opposite a formidable looking writing desk. It was a portrait of oils and depicted a man in his late forties with a square jaw and a stern expression. His gloved hand rested at the hilt of a sword, and he looked…regal, Merlin thought. Regal and distant.

There were no windows.

Now that he was here, Merlin's heart had slowed down to its normal pace, and some of the blind panic was bleeding from his shoulders. He wandered over to the desk, footsteps silent on the thick carpet. There was a high-backed chair that looked rather uncomfortable to sit in. The table was tidy: a small pile of books stacked on top of each other at the corner, ink bottles lined artfully along the front. A drawer had been left open, and in it Merlin could see polished silver fountain pens resting on smooth, blank paper.

It was then that Merlin realised he had left all his music at home. Music for Arthur.

He tightened his jaw and looked away from the drawer.

The room had nothing Merlin associated with Arthur: sunlight, music with too much treble, the smell of scones, a toy bear worn from love. Noticing the dust on the shelves, Merlin wondered if Arthur used this study much at all. But then there was a jacket on the back of the chair, an empty china cup and saucer, the brown dregs of tea still there. On the table there was a sheaf of paper, envelopes and letters. A gold fountain pen, uncapped.

There was a scrunched up ball of paper at the foot of the chair, discarded. Merlin bent to pick it up, meaning to throw it into the waste paper basket, but something on the paper caught his eye.

…_ncerely, Arthur._

Glancing quickly towards the closed door, Merlin unwrapped the scrunched up ball, smoothing out the piece of paper on the desk. It was a letter, written in black ink. The handwriting was heavy and familiar, the sure strokes that weaved through Merlin's notebook, and Merlin felt something like guilt and a spark of defiance. He shouldn't be reading this. But then again, he _could_. Like the study, it was a piece of Arthur Merlin had never seen, a side beyond a connoisseur's love for the piano and heated kisses. And Merlin wanted every facet of Arthur, even the cool and distant; he deserved to know why Arthur didn't want his piano anymore. Merlin's piano.

Was it?

The paper was strange in his hands.

He scanned the words, and his eyes fell on the last line.

…_to give me a few more days to settle my affairs. The _La Campanella_ sets sail week after next and with good fortune, I should be back in London by the end of the month. I pray that h - _The letter ended there.

Merlin's mind was a static blank.

Arthur was leaving for London.

Arthur was _leaving._

Such was the shock that Merlin never heard the study door opening.

"Merlin," said Arthur, sounding surprised. The light from the corridor streamed in, throwing a long, beautiful shadow on the blood red carpet. Merlin jumped, fingers tightening around the letter so that it made a sound as it was crushed in his fist. He saw Arthur's eyes gravitate towards the piece of paper in Merlin's hands, then flicker back up to Merlin's face. He saw them widen with slow realization.

Merlin couldn't look at him. His hands were shaking.

"I can explain," said Arthur calmly, taking a step forwards.

Merlin shook his head, feeling the paper fold in the fold of his knuckles, and it hurt to clench so hard, but the pain in his limbs was something to concentrate on, something to distract Merlin from the sensation of his heart breaking.

He wanted to laugh, and something forced its way through his throat like bubbles of half-formed thoughts, words like _piano, you, why, leave _coming out in half silences. He dropped the goddamned letter on the floor, then mimed playing the piano with both hands, fingers flying through the air, and then shrugged, still laughing.

He moved toward the door to leave (For Arthur was leaving too. Arthur was _gone_.) but found the way blocked.

"Let me explain_."_

_I DON'T CARE, _Merlin gestured furiously, palms, fists, finger presses that Arthur probably didn't understand, _obviously_ didn't understand. He'd never understood. Merlin was just something new, strange, mute, naïve, desperate, something to coax under sheets and then discard like an unfinished letter.

He tried pushing past Arthur, but Arthur just grabbed him by the shoulders, hands warm through Merlin's sleeves.

"Stop and listen to me! I never had-" Arthur broke off abruptly. "_Christ_! What happened to your hands?"

_NO. NO I WON'T._

Merlin wrenched himself away, back hitting the doorframe, and then he was free, he was out, out of the study with its books and windowless portraits, out into the corridor. Merlin staggered into the banisters in his haste, almost tripping on the carpeted stairs.

Halfway down the staircase, Arthur caught up, pulling Merlin around to face him, and Merlin lashed out, punching wildly. It missed, and instead Arthur caught the wrist in one hand. Merlin stamped on his foot, and they struggled on the landing, the sensation of Arthur's skin on his own making Merlin's pulse stutter. He wanted to scream, but he had no voice. Arthur was leaving, and he was taking Merlin's only safe sanctuary with him.

_I HATE YOU. I HATE YOUIHATEYOUHATEYOUHATEYOU._

Finally, Merlin managed to twist out of Arthur's grasp, and he stumbled down the last flight of stairs, skidding into the hallway. He half ran for the front door, wrenching open other doors. Arthur was yelling, furious now:

"Fuck. Why won't you let me explain? This isn't what you think. My father - _Merlin!"_

Pushing down hard on the gilded door handles, Merlin threw himself out of the house.

His horse was still standing by the fountain.

When Arthur finally reached the doorway, his lips were pressed tight, face full of anger. Merlin wanted nothing more than to wreck that handsome face into pieces, until he could no longer remember anything. Then maybe the harsh burn of loss in his chest would dissipate. He strode toward his mare.

This wasn't Arthur. Arthur was gone.

"Why won't you_ listen_ to me? Huh?"

Merlin stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around.

"Why are you so damn stubborn? Is this because of the piano?" Arthur continued, voice rising in anger, choked. "It's always about the piano with you, isn't it?"

All men turned to anger. It was something Merlin knew, as ordinary as breathing. All men lashed out with words or fists or both. Merlin did nothing.

"All you ever do is play that damn thing. You'd - this isn't about London! This isn't about - you love _it_**, **you don't love _me. _So why are you being so difficult?"

Merlin raised his hands to gesture, to speak – but let them drop again. He could hear Arthur breathing.

_Because you're not mine, _thought Merlin. _Because you're leaving me to this_.

But most of all:

_You promised me._

But of course, Merlin was silent.

:i:

_**You asked too much, to fix what you had torn**_

_**Things got out of hand, now I understand:**_

_**Guess I went somewhere to hide**_

_**Far behind my eyes**_

_**I willed you there to see**_

_**But you never came for me**_

**- Orbiting, by Weepies.**

:i:

_Before._

"Ah, a Broadbent. A fine instrument. I've not come across one here, or in the Islands, where I have tuned some two hundred. Yes, they like their pianos there."

Arthur watched as the old man reached deep inside the piano's belly, tinkering. Out of his pocket, he took out a carefully wrapped tuning fork. He unwrapped the package, reached back inside the piano, and started to tune. He sniffed and then bent close to the ivory keys. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

"Scent. The salt, of course. No wonder it's so out of tune."

He turned back to the strings. Arthur, curious despite himself, settled down to watch the man work. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the tuner asked,

"What will you play, when it's tuned? What music do you play?"

Arthur blinked in surprise.

"I don't play."

"You can't?" asked the man.

"No," said Arthur, "I _don't_."

The old man didn't look up, didn't turn around, but continued to work. Small clinks and notes floated from the piano, strange and without substance. It made Arthur think of his mother, somehow.

It was another age before the man spoke again (no, it was only twenty minutes, but it seemed too quiet to be so brief). The man patted the piano with worn hands, lovingly.

"Well, my dear Miss Broadbent," he said, "tuned but silent."

:i:

Valiant found out, as Merlin had known he would.

It was funny, the way things worked out in the end.

"You shouldn't have gone, should you?" said Morgana, her face set in a frown. "Daddy doesn't like it and neither do I."

Merlin stared at her for a long, long time. Behind him, the sunlight was fast disappearing amidst the sound of hammering. It echoed through the skeleton of the house as someone boarded up Merlin's window. It threw bars of light on the floor where there were gaps between the planks of rough wood, lopsided and irregular like minor seconds. In the diminishing light, Merlin lay back down on his bed, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the darkness.

Morgana shuffled, coming over to stand by the bed.

"Papa, let's play cards," she said.

Merlin felt as if his mind had been removed with his heart. He was watching everything the way a man watched the suspension ropes fray, slowly, steadily, whilst he stood in the middle of a collapsing bridge. There were new bruises on his arms from Valiant – "How dare you!"- and they throbbed. Merlin turned his face into his pillow as Morgana sat down on the edge of the covers. From the flick-flick sound of paper, Merlin knew she was dealing out the cards. Outside, the hammering continued, loud and jarring. Merlin put his hands over his ears, almost suffocating himself as he pressed deeper into his pillow, eyes shut tight.

The maid, Morag, had seen him leave. Probably. Merlin neither knew nor cared. Arthur would be soon gone, anyway.

_Oh Arthur._

"You shan't see him again," said Morgana, when Merlin didn't move. He couldn't decipher her tone; was it spiteful? Did she want Merlin's attention, or simply like being right? Merlin slowly exhaled. The piano stood, silent and empty of melodies, two walls over. There was another dipping motion in the mattress and he heard the cards being dropped. Morgana poked his shoulder.

"_Papa._" She intoned, disapproving. Merlin breathed in the scent of his pillow: the smell of his room, without a trace of Arthur. There was a cold, cold fist inside his chest, and Merlin thought it was going to squeeze until he could not breathe. Morgana sighed.

"Dinner will be soon. You'll have to get up then. Don't be silly."

Yes. Well. Life kept spinning.

He felt Morgana pull the blanket up and over his shoulders, and he smelt lavender again. He still couldn't bring himself to look at her.

The mattress shifted, and Morgana's pretense left the bed. Footsteps, 1, 2, 3, 4, to the door. Open, close: as tidy as bar lines. Repeat.

The hammering stopped.

:i:

"Is that where you've been going?" Valiant shouted. He towered over the bed, and Merlin had to force himself still, not to strike out. It wouldn't help. "-All this time?"

Merlin stared back, defiant, frozen where he sat.

His silence made Valiant's face turn even redder with anger. Merlin saw the meaty hands curl into fists at the man's side, and he threw himself backwards on the bed, away – the fist sailed past his face, and Valiant cursed.

"How long?" he said, voice rising – Morgana would hear- "_How long_?"

Merlin swung his legs over the other side of the bed, but before he could stand, Valiant grabbed him by the collar, choking him as he pulled Merlin upwards. Merlin scrabbled at the constricting material, trying to dislodge the hand that fisted his shirt at the nape of his neck. Valiant didn't like touching him._ Diseased. Strange. Faggot._ He was holding Merlin, back to chest, so Merlin couldn't kick, punch or bite him. Merlin tried to draw breath, pushing himself up on his knees in an attempt to loosen the collar digging into his windpipe.

"I provide you have everything you could possibly want. Your freedom, lodgings- and this is how you repay me? You ungrateful little- ANSWER ME."

Merlin was pushed face first into the sheets, his arms trapped in front of him, digging into his stomach. He tried bucking upwards, but Valiant planted a knee in the middle of his back and pushed until there was no breath in Merlin's body. His ribs and lungs ached.

"You'll not be seeing him again," said Valiant, voice hard and spiteful. He sounded almost pleased, "You hear?"

Merlin was too tired to struggle. He tried to draw breath, opening his mouth against the sheets. He wasn't sure if it was working though; everything was too dark to tell. He could hear the sound of Valiant's harsh breaths somewhere above him, a heavy weight pinning him down. He wondered if this was what drowning felt like.

And it occurred to him suddenly that Valiant could very well kill him, here and now. One part of him simply wanted to fall asleep. The other wanted desperately for Morgana to burst into the room and interrupt them, as she had done for her Papa before, or for Arthur to wrench Valiant away, Arthur to have followed him through back through the forest path and the hill where they sat and spoke with their fingers, he wanted to see Arthur throw his head back with laughter, wanted a last image of that to wipe away the look of hurt and anger in his face because Merlin was too cowardly to let him go.

Merlin wanted many things.

He didn't know when consciousness faded.

:i:

When Merlin had calmed down, when music had trickled back into his eyes like sand and salt and tears, after.

_After._

Then the curtains were open, but there were only thin streams of light, tinged red from a sunset unseen. The very air weighed a thousand pounds, stifling and still. Merlin sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, then padded barefoot to the door. And only when he tried to twist the handle did Merlin realise that he must have fallen asleep at some point, slept through the sound of hammering, like the keys in Prokofiev.

The door had been locked from the outside.

:i:

Merlin's incarceration lasted three days.

He kept time by the splinters of light on the wooden floor – not that it meant very much. Arthur's absence somehow removed Merlin from the speed of the seasons, and he felt as if he could sit here, trapped in amber forever, immortal as his namesake. It was easy to give up trying to wrench the door open. His banging and kicking didn't help, either, and by the end of the first day (when there wasn't any light anymore, the room dark as pitch), he was exhausted. He heard Morgana playing the piano sometime in the afternoon, an Irish tune he had taught her years ago: it sounded out of time, muffled. His hands, still sore with faint bruises, now had skin scraped raw on both palms. He supposed he was grateful for the solitude: he didn't have to face Valiant's displeasure or Morgana's disapproval.

The door stayed closed even as Merlin's stomach gurgled with hunger and the smell of roast potatoes snaked through the crack between door and floor.

Morgana played a Chopin nocturne that night. Merlin wished he were deaf.

By the evening of the second day, Merlin's throat was parched. He wondered if Valiant was going to starve him to death. Dragging himself from his bed, Merlin made his way into the bathroom, stumbling a little from head-rush. He knelt next to the bathtub, reaching to twist the tap all the way on. There was the rattling sound of water flowing through pipes, then water, cool and coppery, gushed from the mouth of the tap. He cupped his hands beneath it, catching a handful of water and bringing it to his mouth.

It felt wonderful going down.

Merlin thrust his hands under the tap again, gulping down mouthfuls of tap water until his stomach felt bloated and he could drink no more. Reluctantly, he twisted the tap off with a _squeak._ He watched the water trickle down the sides of the tub, the droplets too small to trail into the plug hole. They sat there, grey on white, like minims. Two crochets to a minim, eight quavers to a minim, ten bars until Arthur left.

Merlin wandered back into his room.

:i:

The letter opener was still in Merlin's drawer. So was the broken piano key (C or D double flat or B sharp … it all came down to the same thing, in the end) wrapped in a silk handkerchief. Arthur's. There was a also a sharp knife beneath Merlin's pillow, filched from the kitchens. For safety, for reassurance, for the dark - for something. It was small, and the handle fit between his fingers, like a pen.

The key was white and smooth, like an unwritten letter, clear of regrets and secrets and words. It was silence. Merlin turned it over and over in his hands, letting the light from the window fall on the ivory. Impulsively, he picked up the knife and took it to the surface of the key, digging it into flesh as if it were a living thing.

Words were useless.

When he had finished, he wrapped up the key once more, and tucked it beneath his pillow, away with the knife.

Then Merlin waited.

:i:

That night, Merlin dreamt of Arthur. He was standing on the empty cove, hair windswept and jacket rolled up to the elbows. His face hard, eyes wild, he looked so beautiful Merlin thought he might drown. He dreamt of Arthur on the cove, standing a few feet away from his piano which stood, pedals half buried in sand and salt. Arthur had a gun in his hand. The gun was pointing at the piano.

"Well then," he said, voice clear in the silence of the cove, "who is it going to be?"

There was a quiet click, and Merlin threw himself forwards, downwards -

Arthur dropped lifeless to the sand.

:i:

A day later. Merlin wasn't sure when.

Morgana brought him hot soup and sliced bread, laid out on a silver tray that was starting to rust at the edges. The smell of food almost distracted Merlin for a moment, stomach cramping at the thought of hunger. Almost. Closing the door behind her, Morgana gave a little smile and slid the tray onto the bedside cabinet. Merlin tried smiling back, reaching out for his daughter. To his relief, she came into the embrace, wrapping her own arms around his middle and squeezing.

"S'not angry anymore," she said, pulling back. "So long as you stay in the house, he said. There are raisins in the bread. I put them in for you."

Merlin tucked a piece of flyaway hair behind the shell of her ear and gestured with his free hand. A question.

"He's out at the boundaries. Fencing," said Morgana. "Why?"

Impulsively, Merlin pulled the wrapped key out under his pillow, pushing it into Morgana's hands. He stilled her at the wrists when she went to open the knot.

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

Merlin tapped out the sentence with his hands and fingers, twisting, watching Morgana anxiously as her smile slipped.

_Please._

"No!"

Merlin buried his face in his hands for a moment, then gestured, his movements aborted.

_Just go! Gwen will know the way._

"I'm not supposed to visit him! You're not - _Papa!_"

_Go!_

Morgana made a noise of frustration, actually stamping her foot before turning and stalking out of the room. Merlin ran after her, reaching for her shoulder. Her dressed swished about her knees as she spun around.

_Where-_

"Gwen's out. I'm going to find her, and then I'll do this," she said. Her eyes locked with Merlin's, and she was glaring, red mouth pulled down with the irritation that Merlin knew so well. Merlin almost collapsed in relief, dropping to his knees and gathering her up. He dropped a kiss into her hair, whispering silently: _thankyouthankyouthankyou, my good girl, I- _Then she wriggled out of his grasp, turned and was out the door. Merlin darted into the living room, to the window, and watched the yellow dress disappear between the trees.

:i:

Merlin was trapped in the house with his piano and silence. Twice he sat down at the stool, venturing as far as opening the lid and placing his hands on the keyboard – but stopped before a finger pressed down, key struck hammer, and hammer struck string. It was a reckless thing to do, he knew that – but he could not leave the house, and Arthur -

_Arthur._

If Merlin closed his eyes, he could almost feel Arthur behind him, around him, sitting reclined in a chair perhaps, coffee at his elbow. _Play something else, _he would say, arrogant and _prattish,_ yet Merlin would bask in the attention all the same. _You don't love _me, he had said, voice full of anger and hurt, and _Merlin hadn't said anything. _

He took his hands away from the keys, pushing the chair back. There were books on the coffee table, frivolous novels out for show, old, never read. Merlin flipped one open at random, the words like noise. He could see Arthur, as immaculate as the first time they met, boarding the ship. He'd step onto the deck, long legs and dark jacket, hair golden as corn silk. Merlin should have known such vibrancy didn't belong in Merlin's world: it was as impossible as the sun and moon shining in the same hour.

Merlin turned the page.

:i:

"I don't have any choice."

Gaius carefully packed away the violin inside its case, tucking the velvet cloth around its hips. Arthur watched him from the window as Gaius slowly unwound the bow, polishing its length to get rid of the dust gathered at the frog. It had been left, along with the violin, in an open case. Arthur had been too busy with open kisses and _I want, love, need, gods Merlin. _The imprint of him was still here like a phantom, an echo like pedals of a piano never lifted.

Gaius refastened the clasp, locking the case shut with a _click._

Arthur turned back to the window.

:i:

"Papa wanted me to give this to Mister Pendragon," said Morgana. The bundle lay in her outstretched palm. She watched him closely for his reaction. Beside them, there were several of Valiant's friends, who had stilled in their work to watch. Valiant let go of the fence he had been working on to crouch down in front of Morgana. One hand rested on the handle of his axe. He smelt of sweat and dirt.

"I thought it was maybe not the proper thing to do."

Valiant's face was simply a mask. Morgana began retracting her hand.

"Should I open it?"

"No!" said Valiant, taking the parcel from her warily. He felt the edges of it through the cloth.

"He wanted this delivered?"

Morgana nodded.

Slowly, suspiciously, Valiant undid the kerchief. The piano key fell out into his hand. Turning it over, he saw an inscription on the inside. It read:

_**Arthur. You have my heart. Merlin.**_

Valiant clenched the key in one fist, squeezing it tightly before throwing it to the ground. Then he wrenched his axe from the earth and took off at a run.

:i:

It started to rain.

:i:


	6. VI

**VI.**

"_**You are broken and callow, cautious and safe.  
You are a boundless and beauty, with fright in your face.  
Until someone loves you, I'll keep you safe.  
But like them, I will give you away."**_

– **That's Okay, by The Hush Sound.**

:i:

When Freya turned twelve, she got a gilded music box that played a tinkling melody when you wound up the key. The heavy metal lid was inlaid with cheap stones that sparkled in the light, red and amber, and it was curved like an egg. It didn't look like the piano, but played Fur Elise. Merlin watched it warily.

Freya saw him looking, and stopped the melody mid-phrase by shutting the lid with a click. She put it down on her bedside table. Merlin gestured.

"Of course I like it," said Freya, smiling, "But what do I need a music box for?"

Merlin smiled back.

:i:

/EMBED / THE HEART ASKS PLEASURE FIRST

Startled by the bang of the door, Merlin looked up.

He dropped his book, eyes widening as he jumped up- just in time to avoid the downward swing of the axe. The heavy weight of it crashed down into the table, shattering a vase with a _swishthud _that made Merlin stumble backwards. Valiant made a guttural sound, almost a roar, pulling the blade out of the table and turning to face him. Half of the book had been cut clean off, pages fluttering to the floor.

Valiant was in his work clothes; shirt sleeves rolled up and boots covered in mud. Merlin could see it on his hands, rough and brown, the lines of dirt clear in the knuckles wrapped around the handle of the axe. His face was livid, eyes bulging, hair damp to the head. Merlin took another step back, glancing behind him for the living room door.

"You-!" shouted Valiant, incensed, "You _DARE_-"

He lifted the axe again and Merlin flinched violently by the wall. Instead of coming at him, however, Valiant turned abruptly away and Merlin realised a moment too late- he leapt forwards, mouth open in a silent _no!_ but even as his hands closed around Valiant's arm, Valiant swung down with the axe. There was the sickening sound of splintering wood as the blade sunk into the lid, and the piano let out a strange moan of broken strings.

Merlin felt something inside him pull taught and _snap. _He dashed forwards, eyes riveted to the place where the silver blade had embedded itself into mahogany, but before he reached the piano, Valiant turned, seizing him by the top of his arms. Merlin tried to jerk away, but the hands were bruising. Valiant shook him, violently, making Merlin's head jerk like a loosened marionette. He could smell sweat; salt and dirt. The momentum of their struggle carried them across the room until Merlin hit something: and he was slammed once, twice, three times against the living room wall.

"Have you spread your legs for him? For _Arthur. _You whore! Speak!"

Merlin tried to kick back, jerking his knee upwards in retaliation. But Valiant had anticipated that action and he swung Merlin away from the wall with a disorienting jerk, letting momentum take them to the other side of the room. This time, Merlin saw stars as his head bounced against the wall, hard. He felt out of breath, a pain in his chest as if the axe had struck his own flesh.

"Why do you do this? Go behind my back and – you're _mine_, you filthy slut!" shouted Valiant, voice hoarse. With a vicious tug, he slammed Merlin face first onto the piano. There was a _crack _as Merlin turned his head too late. Blood gushed from his nose, thick and coppery, into his mouth. It pooled onto the wood of the piano; red as Debussy's poppies.

"SPEAK!"

Merlin gagged at the taste of it, and spat in Valiant's face as he was turned around. The blood look strange, speckled across Valiant's face. It made the man look mad.

"You fucking mute," he said, face dark with rage, voice far too close to Merlin's neck, "I'll make you _scream._"

Valiant wrenched the axe out of the piano, pulling Merlin towards the door, which was still open, revealing the grey shades of rain. The washing was still out, noted Merlin, dazed, it would get wet. The white sheets swayed in the wind, growing dark and blotchy with rainwater, pulling on the lines like someone playing the violin. Merlin stumbled on the steps, Valiant's hand a vice like grip on his arm. He could do nothing but mouth words, trying to gesture with one hand.

_No, stop. Stop. Let me go-_

Then Merlin saw where they were going.

_The cutting block._

Fear, true fear, seized Merlin by the heart and he twisted in Valiant's grasp, trying to get away. He dug the heel of his shoes in the gap between the deck, snarling, silent and desperate like an animal in a trap. Nothing worked. Valiant pulled him all the way down the front steps and Merlin snatched at the flaking banisters, hands grasping, gripping– but the wood was rough and wet with rain, slipping through his fingers.

Rain made the gravel crunch under Valiant's boots as he dragged Merlin forwards, not even slowing when Merlin fell, knees and hands scraping on the ground as he tried to back away. The hand on his upper arm tightened its grip.

"Come on then," snarled Valiant, axe in one hand. Terrified Merlin managed to pull himself away as they arrived at the block, wrenching backwards, dodging Valiant's hand as it reached for him. He turned to run- and slipped in the wet mud and wood chips, landing heavily on his side. Water and mud quickly soaked through Merlin's trousers but he scrambled to get back up, gasping, rain water in his face, in his eyes. Before he could get back onto his feet, a hand closed around his left ankle. Merlin cried out; silent as and Valiant dragged him backwards through the mud, fingers clawing but unable to find purchase in the ground.

He could see- _oh god_.

Merlin bucked and struggled as Valiant manhandled him back to the cutting block, a stump of a tree covered in wood shavings, rings dark Merlin could count them if he wanted to. Desperately, he tried to jerk free, his chest frozen in terror as Valiant dropped the axe to wrench Merlin's right hand up onto the block.

"Papa?" someone called. Morgana. "_Papa_!"

Valiant didn't answer. Instead, he used his knees to pin Merlin's shoulders against the stump of the tree, hard pressure on his back so that the side of Merlin's face was pressed against the rough wet bark. He couldn't see Morgana. He wanted to tell her to run, to hide – but the words were silent in the shape of his mouth. He could barely breathe through the blood in his nose.

"Do you love him?" shouted Valiant, "Do you?"

"What are you doing?"

_Arthur __was coming soon. He was._

"SPEAK! WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER ME?"

Merlin felt his fingers being parted roughly so that his palm splayed out. Then he grimaced with pain as Valiant held the hand in place with his boot, crushing flesh and bone. The wood felt grainy under Merlin hand; like the piano yet unborn.

"You'll never play music again," said Valiant. Legs jerking reflexively, Merlin tried to wrench his hand away, but he couldn't move. And he had no choice but silence as Valiant continued, voice distorted with rage; "You think you love him? _DO YOU_?"

"No!" shouted Morgana, voice high pitched and scared, "He says no!"

Merlin heard the axe fall.

And the pain hit, a jolt of burning agony, forcing a rough gurgle out of Merlin's throat like dying. His whole body convulsed, weak jerking movements on the ground.

Morgana screamed.

"_PAPA_!"

The rain was cold and numbing on the back of Merlin's neck. _Pain. _He blinked, staring blankly ahead, and was slowly aware that Valiant had moved away. There was nothing keeping him here.

Merlin felt himself slipping, cheek scraped by the rough cold bark of the chopping block. He could see the little shoots of green grass and weeds and there was a little yellow flower at the base of the block that used to be a tree that could have been a piano but _it wasn't_ because Merlin's hand was still pressed at its center, _wetwetwet_ with blood and-

"Papa! Oh my god, _papapapapa_-" Morgana was sobbing. _Morgana._

Blindly, like a sleepwalker, Merlin stood shakily, walking towards Morgana. Her hair was damp with rain, and there was something red on her white pinafore. Merlin couldn't see what it was, properly, his vision wavering. Morgana is frozen to where she stood, watching her father approach. Merlin lifted his hands to say _it's alright, everything will be okay, _but the red on his own hand stopped him. Everything was drowning in a the buzzing of pain, hurting his ears like white noise. He stared at his right hand, where index finger used to be, watched the blood cover his hand and trickle down his wrist to stain his sleeve.

The world looked different, all of a sudden. The trees taller. He was closer to the ground.

Merlin cradled his mutilated hand in the other, numb with shock and pain. The rain tasted strange on his tongue; was it always like this? Distantly, he heard words, but didn't understand them.

"Take this to Arthur. Tell him if he…if he ever tries- I'll take another, then another, _then another_."

A sob.

"Papa-"

"GO!"

It was raining.

Merlin frowned as the world grew darker and darker, like curtains closing over the eyes. He couldn't hear anything, not even the rain.

Why was it raining?

:i:

"Valiant had it?" asked Arthur.

Owain nodded, dropping the key and kerchief into his hands. There was a tiny smear of dirt caught in the curved edge of ivory, and Arthur wiped it away gently with the pad of his thumb. He read the words inscribed inside the key in unsteady lettering; angular and beautiful.

_**Arthur. You have my heart. Merlin.**_

"I read it," said Owain, looking a little guilty, "I'm sorry."

Arthur couldn't breathe.

:i:

The sun was streaming through the window.

"I say," mused Freya, tucking her hair into a bun. It was messy, full of silver jeweled pins and she could never get it to stay. Merlin turned around on the piano stool, feet still a little way from the carpet, dangling. "Play that one again. The nice waltz."

Merlin shifted on his seat, placing his hands obligingly back on the keyboard. _Valse. _He was lucky with his hand span, aided by long fingers. Pianist fingers, his father used to say, and Merlin uncurled them on the ivory. Freya gave a little twirl in the middle of the drawing room, excited already.

"Mama says the Buckingham's are throwing the spring ball, next month, and I'll get to go. If we're invited. But we're sure to. Yes."

_Valse._

"Well, come on then," urged Freya, "Play something."

And Merlin did, playing the same waltz over and over like Freya's music box.

:i:

There were eighty eight keys in the piano. Eight tones in a scale, pick the key, black keys in the middle for the chromatics that Morgana never liked. You could play a jig, in the span of an octave, Bach took at least three.

It took ten fingers to play Chopin.

"I'm sorry," said the figure by his bed, "I lost my temper."

_Arthur?_

Merlin wasn't sure if his eyes were even open; everything felt dry and disorienting. The world had narrowed down to two things; pain and silence. His hand. His _hand._

"You gave me no choice," the stranger continued, tone strange. Was it the calmness that was strange, or the way he was gazing down at Merlin? As if tender. No, hallucination.

"You push and you do things t- just to think on it makes me angry."

Merlin couldn't move. If he could, he would turn away. His throat was parched, on fire, yet his chest felt cold and dead. The silence roared and roared. He blinked at it, trying to see.

"I had no choice," he said again, "You have to learn your place."

A hand, hot and large on Merlin's ankle.

Fingers curled around it, a thumb rubbing circles on the bone that jutted out. Skin on skin; Merlin shivered and tried to curl into the sheets, away. His limbs were heavy like lead, unresponsive. The hand slid up his thigh, slowly in a caress and Merlin realised, belatedly, that he was naked. It was raining – where were his clothes?

The hand slid up his thigh.

Merlin choked on panic, trying to draw his leg up, get away from the touch of skin. He must have managed some kind of movement, because suddenly the presence was gone. The world came into focus as Merlin opened his eyes. Blurrily, he could see Valiant look back, face too far away for his expression to be clear.

The pain from his right hand seemed to intensify with his return to consciousness; cold and paralyzing and Merlin wanted to scream with the agony of it. Yet he could do nothing bit lie there under Valiant's gaze. His skin felt hot.

"I clipped your wing, that is all."

Merlin sank back into oblivion.

:i:

It was strange to think of London. There was Before and After in London. Before, when Arthur remembered piano lessons with his mother, the sound of violin in the morning room and vinyls playing every spare moment of the day. Before was a vague impression, like watercolors, because Arthur only remembered his mother as an idea. A woman with corn silk hair, flowery perfume, and embrace. After London.

But it was all _London_. The concept of it seemed distant – and he wondered how he had lived as he had once done, buried and drowning in politics and social advancement. The years away, alone, had muted all of that. Even his father ceased to be a constant presence. Here, in his own house by the sea, Uther Pendragon was just a painting.

London was a lifetime ago.

Arthur couldn't imagine going back, back to After, back to silence and _without Merlin. _Every time he thought of it, the feel of his father's letter between his fingers, the smell of smoke early in the morning: he thought he would throw up with the ache inside him.

It made him hollow.

Arthur smoothed his thumb over the edge of the ivory key in his pocket, letting the feel of the engraved letters calm him. He pressed the pad of his finger to the _M, _and almost smiled.

The door of the drawing room burst open. Arthur looked up, startled and irritated.

"Gaius, I thought I said- _Guinevere_?"

The young woman didn't even drop her customary curtsey. On closer inspection, her face was white, eyes scared and hair in disarray. Her brown dress was damp, and Arthur suddenly realised it was pouring with rain outside his window. He hadn't even noticed.

"Are you alright?" asked Arthur, concerned. Gaius closed the door with a soft click.

Gwen shook her head, lips pressed tight together. She looked as if she was going to burst into tears.

"Are you Mister Pendragon?" came a child's voice.

For a moment, Arthur didn't know who had spoken – he blinked in surprise when he realised there was a girl standing behind Guinevere's skirts, half hidden. She looked about eight years old and was wearing a neat dress splattered with mud and _was that blood?_

"Yes," he said, laying the letter down, "Yes I am. You are-"

The girl's face contorted. And before anyone could move, she threw herself out from behind Guinevere and at Arthur, screaming:

"It's all your fault! _This is all your fault_! He's gonna kill him!"

"Morgana-!"

Arthur took a hasty step back.

"Jesus- what is the meaning of this?" he looked towards the fireplace, where the butler was standing, grim faced. "Gaius?"

"Please, sir, he bid us come immediately," said Guinevere, trying to keep Morgana from scratching Arthur's eyes out, "I-"

"I'm sorry," said Arthur, "But who is this?" he gestured at the girl, alarmed to see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"Master Emrys' daughter, sir."

For the second time in as many hours, Arthur felt like someone had sucked all the air from the room. This was Morgana? Of course this was Morgana: he could see Merlin in her dark curls and blue eyes, the thin angled face. Something cold and terrible settled in his gut.

"What's happened?" he asked, sharply, "Where's Merlin?"

At this, the girl let out a terrible wail. She thrust something at Arthur and he took it cautiously. He examined it in his hand: It was a stained handkerchief, once white, stained red. Arthur unwrapped it to reveal-

A finger.

A finger, severed at the knuckle.

Arthur reeled backwards as if he had been punched, stifling a groan of horror.

"He says you're not to see Papa or he'll chop him up!" screamed Morgana, hysterical, "it's all your fault!"

"Where's your Mer- your father? Is he-" Arthur's fist closed over the severed digit in his hand, he thought he was going to be sick, "What's happened? _Tell me_!"

But Morgana only sobbed harder, shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. Guinevere stood behind her, one hand pressed to her own mouth. Arthur felt numb with dread.

"WHERE IS HE?" he shouted, taking two steps forward and seizing Guinevere by her shoulder, shaking her, "What's happened to Merlin?"

Guinevere looked terrified; eyes too big for her face. When she spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper, almost inaudible.

"He cut it off," she said, eyes falling to Arthur's fist.

"Jesus-" hissed Arthur, "I'll kill him! _I'LL KILL HIM!_"

"Why did you trick Papa?" cried Morgana, and then her hands were fisted in Arthur's shirt, tugging and pushing, "This is your fault! Your fault! He's supposed to love father and _me_, NOT YOU! Papa's going to die_he'sgoingtodie_ Father's going to cut him up if – p..please don't let him die _please-IT'S ALL GOING TO BE YOUR FAULT."_

"Morgana," gasped Gwen, "Sweetheart-"

"It's true!" sobbed Morgana, "I wish Papa never met you!"

Arthur closed his eyes, tight. _You have my heart._

The piano key burned in his pocket.

:i:

In his dream, Merlin met Arthur for the first time.

"One condition," he said, "Play for me."

But when Merlin began to play, he realised that he only had nine fingers instead of ten. He tripped over the notes; gasps of silence, and Arthur frowned, incredulous. He raised an eyebrow, face handsome as ever, expression condescending. Merlin had seen that expression countless times before.

_I can't think of a fate worse than being dumb!_

"Well," said Arthur, "What use _are _you?"

:i:

/EMBED/BROKEN HANDS EXTRACT

The door to his room was locked once more. Merlin didn't know how he knew; he thought he heard someone turning a key, _clickclick, _and later the rattle of the doorknob as someone tried to enter but couldn't. There were voices, but like Merlin, they couldn't speak.

The window was still boarded up, the room in constant twilight. Merlin barely noticed these things, the lack of air and the weight on his chest. All his senses seemed out of focus.

He tried to flex his fingers, curling and uncurling them as if preparing to play a particularly fast passage on the piano. Arthur liked fast notes, whatever he said; he liked the sound of them, without care and without constraint, dashing down the keyboard like youthful laughter. Merlin couldn't comprehend the enormity of his loss: five four three …one. G, F, E…C.

He thought he could feel his index finger moving, knuckle by knuckle, like his other fingers. But he knew it was all in his head.

_You'll never play music again._

Gasping, Merlin pushed himself into a sitting position, careful not to jostle his hand. The room was a collection of silhouettes, and Merlin could feel cold sweat on his brow, sticky on his back. He was still naked, and it made Merlin feel weak, somehow. He pulled the sheets up to his chest with his left hand.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look down.

He fanned his fingers out gingerly, biting back pain at the slight movement. Someone had bandaged his finger, the white gauze tied roughly around his hand and wrist. It was soaked red, dried blood sticking to his palms, and Merlin began pulling at the knot with morbid fascination.

He had to- it felt-

The knot was tight and complicated, and Merlin had to use his teeth as well as his left hand to undo it. Gritting his teeth, he unwrapped the stained gauze, slowly, round and round until it got to skin. He could feel the edges of the bandage sticking to his skin, and Merlin pulled swiftly.

There was a gap between his thumb and third finger. A neat rounded stump, cut off at the knuckle. Merlin thought he could see the white of bone, clotted over with blood, grotesque and yet riveting. He wondered if he was still, dreaming, feeling strangely detached and light headed as he raised his hand to eyelevel.

_C…E, F, G._

_C, E, F, G._

Merlin shivered, pushing the fringe of his hair back with his good hand. His left hand. His accompanist hand, the hand which only had voice in Bach, the cello, the steps for Chopin – he could do without a melody. Melody was like speaking, wasn't it? And Merlin had done without a voice, he could do without his melodies.

He suddenly remembered Valiant swinging the axe down, _down _into the top of the piano then down onto Merlin's hand. Merlin blinked away tears – he could still hear that strange, discordant groan the piano had made as strings snapped and hammers broke. How many notes had it lost? Merlin felt as if someone had cut loose his heart and it had been torn from him, lost, like his finger.

Squinting into the gloom, Merlin tried spotted a dirty set of clothes thrown haphazardly on the chair next to his bed; a shirt and loose trousers. He reached for them with his right hand, before remembering.

Dressing himself was difficult with one hand. His buttons took twice as long to do up, because it _hurt _every time Merlin moved the fingers of his right hand and it pulled at the severed muscle, where his index finger had been. But he felt better with clothes on, feeling the shirt stick to the sweat on his back.

Merlin shivered again, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself up. The sudden change of position made him feel nauseas, stomach turning and vision swimming alarmingly. For a moment, the room grew even darker, before coming slowly back into focus. Merlin took several deep breaths, then a few unsteady steps towards the table in the corner of the room.

He could do without his melodies.

He wanted-

Stopping in his tracks, Merlin turned towards the small cabinet by his bed, pulling out the second drawer hastily as a sudden thought struck him. He rifled through the contents of the drawer, papers, books, sketches of the window, where was it? Arthur had given-

_Arthur._

_Arthur was coming soon._

He hadn't.

Merlin froze, realization trickling down the back of his neck, cold, as the events before Valiant's terrible act came rushing back into consciousness. He piano key: Merlin had written a desperate message, hoping it would convince Arthur not to leave, convince him to stay _here. _Valiant must have found out. Valiant must have found out.

Merlin felt as if someone had taken his insides and was twisting them, clenching down like a giant fist, leaving him cold with dread. She hadn't. Merlin's hand was white knuckled on the edge of the drawer, and he could feel himself shaking with the knowledge. No. _No. _

_Why?_

Morgana.

Merlin let himself sink slowly to the ground, until his knees touched hard floor. He took his hand away from the drawer, leaving it gaping open, empty of music and full of worthless, worthless things. Merlin leant his head against the mattress of his bed, legs folding beneath him until he was curled on the floor, back against the bed frame. He didn't know what to think, how to feel, how to-

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, anguish bubbling up inside him like a fountain, forcing its way up through his mouth in a cry; open mouthed and silent. Arthur had never gotten the key, D it was, it echoed _D. _Arthur would have never received it, never read it, probably never known how much Merlin loved him because Merlin had been too much of a coward to stay and _speak._ He'd be gone in a few days.

Maybe he was already on the sea.

Was that what silence was? Not bravery, not faithfulness, not a protest against too may misused, wasted words in his life, against his mother leaving _"shhh, baby shhhh"_ and a father who showed him how silence was better than anything anyone could ever say to you.

Merlin turned his face into the sheet, letting the edge of the wooden bed frame roll painfully against the back of his neck. Silence had always been a shield, a comfort which locked Merlin in a separate world with his music and Morgana. It gave him freedom from words and what they could do, gave him a place to be himself, somewhere. It gave him music.

It gave him Arthur, somehow.

Merlin couldn't stop the tears. They leaked from his eyes as he pressed his face harder against the sheets, smothering, sobs shaking him from inside out like one of Valiant's rages. It took him by the ribs and tugged, like a boat lost at sea, tossed this way and that without the warmth of a lighthouse to guide its way.

_Did she hate him so much?_

There came a _crash _somewhere in the house, and Merlin jerked away from the bed from shock. The movement scraped fabric across his injured hand and Merlin thought he was going to pass out from the sudden pain; raw and on _fire._ He must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he heard was shouting; barely muffled by the thin walls.

Merlin's heart soared.

"…VALIANT! Where the fuck are…"

It was Arthur's voice! Merlin struggled to stand, stumbling over the edge of the rug on the floor as the voice grew out of focus.

Another crash, deeper inside the house. Muffled shouting could be heard; uneven vibration of two different voices making Merlin's nerves freeze. He rushed to the door, straining to hear a word, something, anything, but all he could hear was the muffled shouting, indistinct. He held his own breath, his sobs having been silenced by surprise. Merlin pressed his ear to the door.

The sound of something breaking. Words blurring in rage and confusion and _Merlin wished he knew what was going on_.

A moment later, there was sudden silence.

Then the sound of gunshot, once.

Merlin jerked back from the door as if _he_ had been shot, his breath coming out in a gasp as something terrible seized him by the throat. Terror.

_Oh gods._

Merlin wrapped both hands around the doorknob, the panic overriding the pain as he twisted and turned in vain, desperate. It rattled, the metal cold against Merlin's palm, but the door remained locked.

There was silence in the house

A voice inside Merlin's head was chanting _ArthurArthurArthurArthur_, because what if Valiant had shot him and he was- Merlin pounded the door with the flat of his uninjured hand, kicking, heart thudding painfully inside his chest. Gods he hated the silence, _let Arthur be alright, let Arthur be alright, if it is Valiant, then let him come and shoot me in the head_-

Then a voice:

"…Where's he keeping you? Merlin! _MERLIN._"

And Merlin's legs gave out, relief flooding through him sudden and overwhelming, sending him crashing to the floor.

Another crash, and Merlin realised it was the sound of doors opening.

"Where are you? Fuck. Goddamit, Merlin, _please,_" Arthur was screaming, voice hoarse and panicked, "Merlin!"

Scrambling to his feet, Merlin kicked his door in response, trying to make as much noise as possible, tugging at the handle. It gave a metallic rattle. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Merlin kicked again, and again, and again.

Then Arthur's voice was right outside his door.

"Here? Merlin, can you hear me? MERLIN."

Merlin banged on the door with his fist, trying to scream _yes_ as Arthur said:

"Thank- stand back. Stand back, I'm going to open this door. Stand back!"

There was _crack _of a gun being fired, and Merlin flinched at the sound. The handle was blown apart by the shot and the light which spilled into the room as the door burst open made Merlin throw up his arms in reflex. Before his eyes could adjust to the light, he found himself in a tight embrace, arms wrapped around him warm and unfamiliar and _safe_ and he could smell _Arthur_. All the breath was squeezed from his chest, but Merlin didn't care. Arthur's hand was sweeping up his back, the touch desperate, as if Arthur wanted to make sure Merlin was real. Merlin's good hand was fisted tight in Arthur's collar, fingers pressed to the rapid pulse there, alive.

_Arthur was here._

"I thought he'd- he said- I thought you were," Arthur choked out the words against Merlin's hair, and Merlin could feel the shape of them, jagged and desperate on Arthur's lips against his neck. "- oh jesus, _Merlin."_

They kissed, lips slotting over one another without finesse, teeth clicking but Arthur only groaned and kissed harder, rough, mouthing along Merlin's jaw as if he couldn't help himself. Merlin pulled him closer, letting their hearts beat in tandem. He breathed in, shuddering.

"You're alive," said Arthur, pulling back, eyes darting all over Merlin's face, "You're alive."

There was a smudge of blood on Arthur's cheek, stark contrast to his pale face. His blond hair was in disarray, and Merlin thought he must look far worse. He reached up to touch Arthur's cheek, to wipe the blood away.

Arthur gave another choking sound, and then his own hand was wrapped around Merlin's wrist, tugging the hand up. He stared at the place where Merlin's finger was missing, the stump of a wound, naked. Merlin could feel Arthur shaking so hard that his whole arm shivered.

"Fuck," said Arthur, cradling Merlin's hand in his own, the gentleness at odds with his voice. "_I'll KILL HIM." _

He made a move towards the door and Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur's collar, startled. He noticed the dropped gun on the wooden floor, black and polished something moved in the living room and Merlin realised Arthur hadn't shot Valiant dead. 

He shook his head jerkily, and Arthur stopped, turning back to Merlin. The expression on his face was so raw, so open, Merlin blinked.

"He won't hurt you again," said Arthur, voice cracking on 'again', "I won't let him. What he's done- _I can't- I_'m going to-"

Merlin shook his head once more, tugging, and Arthur relented, letting Merlin pull him closer. The warmth of him made Merlin shudder, inhaling. Arthur laid a palm against Merlin's face, carding through hair, coming to rest on his brow.

"You're burning up," said Arthur, face very close, "We need to get you home. Gaius will know what to do."

Merlin wanted to ask, _are you still leaving? Am I dreaming? Do you know? How did you know? _Wanted to say, _don't go._

But there was no more pages left in the notebook. And if there were, Merlin couldn't hold a pen. He was well and truly silent. Shrugging off his jacket, Arthur slung it over Merlin's shoulders. He kicked the door fully open and half pushed Merlin from his room, hand steadying him at the elbow. The light was from the lamps along the hallway, sputtering with electricity. Outside, Merlin could see the nothing but the silhouette of the veranda.

"Pendragon!"

Arthur's back was to Valiant, but Merlin could see him, propped up against the wall barely three feet away. There was a nasty red stain on the thigh of his trousers, and he was limping. His face was a mask, eyebrows furrowed in pain and jaw clenched; he caught Merlin's gaze and didn't look away. He was holding a gun.

Merlin thought n_o! _and pushed Arthur to the right, still locked in his embrace just as there was a deafening _bang _and the bullet embedded itself in the doorframe at the end of the corridor. Arthur swore and then Merlin found himself face down on the floor, and Arthur had his own gun out. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of harsh breathing in the corridor.

"I'll do it," said Arthur, voice calm.

"No you won't, you don't have the guts for it," said Valiant, and then it was Merlin who was on the receiving end of his gun barrel. Merlin flinched at the movement, and there was a warning _clickclick _from the gun in Arthur's hand.

"Try me."

"You shoot me; I put a bullet in his head."

Arthur held out a hand to Merlin without looking away from Valiant. Merlin took it, and Arthur grasped his hand and pulled him upright. He didn't let go, backing them down the corridor and through the front door; all the while keeping a steady aim at Valiant.

Merlin felt as if his heart was going to escape through his throat any minute, even as they reached the door and out, Arthur's arm around his shoulders. Valiant, however, didn't move.

The night air was a cool caress on Merlin's face; contrasting with heat of Arthur by his side. The wind made the leaves on the trees whisper and hiss, _hush hush hush _like the sea beating against the empty cove. Merlin was bundled onto Arthur's horse, and he nudged them into a canter, plunging into the black of the forest, away. Merlin watched over Arthur's shoulder, as the little light from the house was swallowed up by darkness.

For a long, long time, there was nothing but the sea-rocking of the horse and Arthur filling Merlin's senses as they left the piano behind.

/EMBED / BREATHING SPACE

:i:

"_Has he ever spoken to you?"_

_Arthur hesitated. They watched each other from the opposite sides of the room, like wolves, like dogs. Valiant continued, voice growing stronger in Arthur's silence._

"_No? Thought not."_

_Arthur clenched his jaw._

"_You're lying."_

"_He talks alright, when given the right incentive," said Valiant, a cruel twist of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Arthur had to fight to keep his hand steady, and not to pull the trigger. "Told me all sorts of things: Tell me. Was he good?"_

"Godammit_, where is he?" shouted Arthur. _

"_No?" said Valiant, reckless, "Well. 'Course I put him out of his misery, the dumb thing."_

_Arthur pulled the trigger._

:i:

When Morgana screamed and sobbed into Merlin's chest, "Papa, papa, I love you, papa-"

He forgave her.

:i:

Owain and some others managed to salvage the piano. Carefully, it was being loaded into the long boat, cloth wrapped around its legs to prevent scratches.

"I don't suppose you'd be back, eh?" Owain said, shaking Arthur's hand.

"No," said Arthur, glancing towards the horizon.

"Give my regards to your father," said Owain, clapping Arthur on the back and Arthur let out a bark of laughter.

"I won't."

The little boat was resting partly on the sand, and Arthur watched the men loading boxes (books) into it for a moment before casting his eyes about for Merlin. He spotted him, a thin silhouette a little way along the beach, Morgana by his side. Their hands were linked, facing the sea. Arthur allowed himself a small smile, and made his way across the beach towards them.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

Merlin half turned, and something flickered in his eyes as Arthur reached them, taking Merlin's injured hand in his own. It was wrapped nearly in white bandages, which covered the cool medicine Gaius had smeared over the wound.

It had been too late to save the finger.

Merlin nodded, and Morgana followed obediently, mouth closed. She hadn't spoken a word since Merlin came back to the manor two nights ago, keeping to her father like a shadow and ignoring everyone else.

They walked back across the cove, tasting salt, and Arthur held out his hand to Merlin, steadying the boat with one foot. Merlin gave him an irritated sort of look that said _Prat, _before helping Morgana into the boat, stepping in after her. He ignored Arthur's hand. Arthur sighed and followed suit.

"Away now!" someone shouted, and with a almighty push, the boat was slid away from the beach, into the water. Several rowers splashed across the shallows, clambering into the boat and taking up the long wooden paddles, quickly taking the them out into deeper water. The piano rocked slightly with the waves, and at Morgana's anxious look, Arthur stood up to steady the instrument.

Merlin was staring at something in the distance, eyes slightly glazed.

His stillness had been worrying Arthur.

"Do you want to play something?" he asked Morgana. Perhaps music would help.

Morgana eyed the piano warily, before coming over. She sat down on the stool, wrapped in black cloth as Arthur lifted the lid for her. The keyboard looked as it always did; the white gleaming under the early morning sun.

A gull cried overhead.

Morgana pushed away from the piano, dashing to the side of the boat, heaving. Merlin moved at this, blinking and reaching for his daughter before Arthur could move from the piano. He pulled her hair back from the waters, and ran a soothing hand down her back. A moment passed, then they returned to their seats without a word.

Merlin gestured deftly to Morgana with his good hand.

Morgana looked from her papa to Arthur, eyes widening in surprise. Arthur frowned.

"What is it?"

Morgana hesitated. Merlin signed again.

"…He says, throw the piano over board."

It was Arthur's turn to blink.

"It's quite safe," he said, trying to catch Merlin's eye, "the boat is managing-"

Merlin signed again, this time more forcefully.

"He says, throw it overboard," repeated Morgana, looking confused, "Papa doesn't want it. He says it's spoiled."

Arthur let the piano go, coming over. Merlin was still avoiding his eyes.

"I have the key here, look, I'll have it mended. Merlin, look at me. The piano will be good as new, I promise-"

Merlin doesn't look at him, but mimes pushing something over the edge of the boat, mouth a thin line, eyes blank.

"Please, Merlin. You'll regret it – it's your piano. It's yours now."

But Merlin wasn't listening. He stood up, rocking the boat slightly as he dropped to his knees by the piano stool and began undoing the ropes tying the legs to the boat. Panicked, Morgana tugged on Arthur's sleeve.

"Papa doesn't want it! He doesn't want it!" 

The canoe was rocking now, unbalancing as Merlin struggled with the ropes with one hand, the other stumbling in their movements, jerky. Arthur felt something squeeze around his lungs, like heartache but full of warmth and grief.

"Look- alright. Alright, sit down- _careful_! I'll do it."

At his words, Merlin sat back down and Arthur caught a flash of something across his face, fleeting. He looked pleased, eyes and face suddenly aglow, flushed. Perhaps it was the strong sea wind, thought Arthur as he turned slowly back to the knots at the base of the piano. The ropes were pulled taught to the corners of the boat, anchoring the piano somewhat, and it took a while for Arthur to undo them. By this time, they were nearing the ship, it's shadow falling on the surface of water, a dark stain. Several of the rowers stop rowing in order to help Arthur maneuver the piano to the side of the boat, carefully, slowly, as the others balanced the weight on the other side.

"Are you sure?" asked Arthur, over his shoulder.

Merlin looked up, one hand trailing in the water. He nodded, staring at the sea.

Arthur took a deep breath, then undid the last knot.

"Now!"

They heaved the piano so that it toppled on to it's side legs then over the edge of the boat. It hit the water with a huge _splash, _followed by the slight _whistlethud _as the thick heavy ropes, untethered now, sped their way after it. Arthur turned back to Merlin, who had his head tilted to the side, curious; eyes following the slithering rope uncoil at his feet. Arthur barely had time to shout;

"_Stop!"_

Before Merlin stepped deliberately into a loop. The next second, the rope wrapped itself tight about Merlin's ankle and he was snatched into the sea, pulled down by the weight of the piano.

"Merlin!" Not even bothering to take of his jacket, Arthur dived into the water.

:i:

/EMBED / SCENT OF LOVE

The cold water twisted Merlin's clothes around him as he sank, on and on. He kept his eyes open, and he could see the light from the surface shining a glassy blue. Bubbles streamed from his open mouth like semiquavers, pushing the air out from his chest in one giant whoosh of sparkling notes. It felt like falling in slow motion.

There were small silhouettes against the light blue. People? They couldn't reach him at this depth.

_Paradise, sweetheart. _

The rope was tight around Merlin's boot, the piano sinking so fast light was diminishing overhead, everything quickly becoming murky and dark all around. Merlin kicked at the rope instinctively, but it dug into his ankle. A giant fist was squeezing his chest, and a few more bubbles escaped from his mouth and nose. The shone silver in the water in front of Merlin's face before floating away.

Sound traveled further in water.

Merlin wondered if he would hear the piano, slowly coming to a stop on the ocean bed. Would the keys play? Would notes echo through the lid? Could its voice be heard far away, out to sea…or would it be lost in the endlessness?

As his vision darkened (but perhaps it was just the sea), Merlin tried kicking again at the rope. He tried slipping his foot from the boot, but it held fast. Merlin tried to reach down, but his body wouldn't cooperate, the rope swaying in the current. The lack of air was making it hard to see, hard to think. He was being dragged to the surface, like a marionette towards gravity, towards Arthur, while the piano tugged him in the opposite direction.

Merlin tried to laugh, but all he achieved was the sensation of water rushing into his lungs.

He could see Arthur's face, vivid, hair golden; an untarnished hallucination. It came closer, mouthing words so Merlin reached out with his arms, keeping his eyes open despite the sting of salt. _I never noticed the silence Play somethingMerlinstayyou'dbesafehere-_ And then, suddenly, his leg was wrenched free of the rope. Water was making his world darken to black but all Merlin could see was the gold of Arthur's hair as they rushed upwards towards the sky.

Deep below Merlin's feet, the piano sank softly into the sand.

:i:


	7. Coda

**C O D A**

"_**There is a silence where hath been no sound**_

_**There is a silence where no sound may be**_

_**In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea."**_

**- The Piano, 1994.**

_Three years later._

_A_. Pronounced _Ahh._

Merlin closed the book, setting it down on the top of the piano. The child sitting beside him was gathering up the loose sheets of music and stuffing them into a brown cloth bag. Merlin passed him a piece of note paper, smiling. The piano is smiling also; all white teeth gleaming in a well tuned grin. Merlin could see their reflections in its high black polish. The note said:

_Practice your scales. I want to hear them next week._

The boy sighed, shoulders rising and falling dramatically. He had a tooth missing when he grinned.

"Yes, Mister Emrys."

Merlin patted him on the shoulder. The boy (Mathew, ten, had the tendency to thump out the first note of every bar, but he was coming along alright) sprang from the piano stool, and with a last "See you next week!" he was bounding out of the drawing room, nearly knocking over a vase full of flowers by the door.

"Sorry!"

Merlin smiled to himself, standing up also and stretching his legs. He moved over to the coffee table beside the bay window and picked up his unfinished cup of coffee; lukewarm now, but still wonderful. Merlin had grown to love coffee; loved the colour of it, the scent mixed in with the wood and rosin and worn pages of music. It tasted like what Merlin thought words would taste like; bitter and sweet and intoxicating, with an aftertaste that stayed on the tongue long after the sound had faded.

R. The curl of the tongue. _Th, _tongue flat.

He traced the pattern on the surface of the cup, idly, taking a few sips. Little Lara Hall didn't have her lesson until Wednesday, and Merlin debated over giving her the Debussy or sticking to Haydn. Perhaps if she was feeling adventurous that day.

Merlin wandered back to the piano, picking up his book again. He opened up to his marked page, fingers running down the margin, smoothing over the creases and the words. Letter print black, the serif curls tasted strange on his mouth as he practiced over the vowels in the silence of the afternoon, slowly, carefully. Morgana would be home from school, soon – or most likely she would be browsing the shops and bouquets until just before dark. If she bought another dress, Merlin would have to buy her new wardrobe to fit everything in.

He glanced over at the music stand in the corner of the room, top heavy with music. A violin case lay propped against the wall, silver clasps reflecting the light from the window. _Paganini, _thought Merlin.

Perhaps he would indulge in second cup of coffee, thought Merlin absently. He retrieved his cup and saucer and made his way into the kitchen. He couldn't see the jar of coffee beans anywhere, and he frowned, setting the cup down beside the sink, reaching up to open one of the cupboards. Someone had hidden the jar, no doubt. Merlin huffed.

"Looking for something?"

Merlin spun around.

Arthur was standing in the doorway. His jacket was thrown over one shoulder, shirt button undone to show the hollow of his throat. He set something heavy down by the door, and Merlin blinked in surprise; Arthur wasn't usually home so early. He was wearing his smug, prattish expression that told Merlin _exactly _who had confiscated the coffee jar.

Merlin waved his cup pointedly, eyes narrowing.

Arthur chuckled, stalking forwards until they were barely a breath apart. He pushed Merlin until his back hit the edge of the kitchen counter, arms looped loosely around Merlin's waist as he leaned closer for a kiss.

"You're addicted, you are," said Arthur, laughing low in his throat. Merlin felt the sound rumble through his chest, warm and tingling. Arthur kissed him again, on the edge of the mouth. He smelt of the sun, cut grass and sweat.

"Mm, you even smell like coffee," said Arthur appreciatively, nosing at the nape of Merlin's neck, "Missed you."

The words, sweet and teasing, made Merlin shiver with delight. He pulled back, reluctantly.

A raised eyebrow. Blue eyes like sky, like Chopin from an open window.

"What's wrong?"

Merlin took a deep breath, steadying. He swallowed, the vowels on the tip of his tongue.

Then he said, slowly, carefully;

"_Arthur_."

_**At night, I think of my piano in its ocean grave, and sometimes of myself floating above it. Down there, everything is so still and silent that it lulls me to sleep. It is a weird lullaby and so it is; it is mine.**_

**.fin**


End file.
